The Nervous Game
by OuEstLaCraie
Summary: Once upon a time, three little ducklings decided to play a game, a game which would test their nerves and wits. But none of them could forsee the tragic events that would be instigated by playing the Game...Reviews loved. COMPLETED.
1. An Introductory Drabble

**_Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure where this is going just yet, but it's based on a game I just learned about today in school. It's meant to be a lighthearted game, but I decided to bend the rules a bit and make it a tad more sinister. I may not be able to update very often, but please enjoy this introductory drabble for the time being. _**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _House, MD_...I just, shall I say, play with the characters from time to time.

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Games are meant to be played out on the playground, in the park, in the backyard. Some belong indoors, sprawled across an expansive living room on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Some are meant to be shared with the family, while others are suited better to the halls of a high school, or a playing field after school at practice for one sport or another. Some games originated hundreds, thousands of years ago, while some are relatively modern. Some are simple, with clear guidelines and obvious goals, with no room for error. But some are more complex, with loopholes and cheat codes and manuals upon manuals about how to play, how to get better, how to win. And some may start out as simple and innocent, but hide truly ambiguous possibilities and deep-running, long-hidden emotions.

Whatever the case, the one place most games do _not_ belong is at the office. Playing with colleagues with whom you have undefined relationships can spell disaster for most work environments, causing agonizingly awkward moments and bitter feelings that may last for months, even years. When one wishes to play a game, one should find suitable, equally-willing counterparts to play said game with, instead of tossing one's colleagues into a torrent of unknown emotions without their consent. However, when one sometimes feels the need to play, one must play, no matter what the risks or consequences.

But one must never forget that humans are fragile creatures, capable of being easily manipulated, and just as easily hurt. Games can hold the key to dangerous repercussions, and one must familiarize oneself with the rules, risks, and codes of conduct of their game of choice.

And now that I've gone through the trouble of telling you all this, would you care to play a game?


	2. Rules & Regulations

**_Author's Note: I have updated! However, I probably won't be able to for a while longer...I want the next chapter to be much longer. But enjoy this for the time being, and don't forget to review!_**

**Disclaimer: Not feeling creative...they ain't mine.

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**_game_ (_n_)-a form of competitive activity or sport played according to rules**

It all began on a rainy Monday morning, the kind of day that makes you want to throw the alarm clock across the room and curl up in the sheets of your bed and ignore reality in its entirety. It was the kind of day that called for excitement. It was the kind of day that called for a game. And apparently, Cameron had just the game in mind.

I remember the beginning of the Game as if it were yesterday: the early morning calm of the hospital, the patterns the droplets of rain traced on the window as they ran down the glass, the coffee machine, busy at work making the sacred caffeinated drink we all worshiped. The dreary day seemed to settle a blanket of quiet over the hospital, making for a calm, if boring, morning. Or so I thought.

As I made my way to the counter, planning on pouring myself a nice, warm cup of coffee, I heard the door open and close behind me. "Hey, Cameron," I said in greeting without looking at the newcomer. Chase was already there, and there was no way House would actually be on time for work, so that gave me a pretty good chance of being right in my assumption about the identity of the new occupant of the room.

But instead of the quiet "Good morning" that was the common response from Cameron, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, followed by the peculiar greeting, "Hey, sexy."

I glanced down at her. Same voice, same body...very different personality. Arching an eyebrow, I opened my mouth to ask what the hell was going on with her, but she shook her head, and caressed me arm a moment longer, before winking and taking a seat. Shaking my head, I grabbed my coffee mug and settled into my own seat a moment later, only to notice Cameron's hand on Chase's leg. Glancing at my colleague, I nearly laughed at the look of mortification and confusion on his face as he seemed to battle between removing her hand because what she was doing was so utterly _wrong_, and letting her hand remain where it was, because he was just enjoying it too damn much. Finally, the angel on his shoulder took over, he pushed her hand away, and we thought nothing of it for the rest of the day.

It wasn't until later that day that we learned that what Cameron was doing was merely a game, that she was playing with us and taking advantage of the way we clung to the moral code (or didn't). It was late, about ten, and the day was winding down, the storm's intensity steadily increasing. House was gone, saying he had a handicap and deserved to leave early, leaving only we three ducklings. We found ourselves gathered in the diagnostics office once more, collecting our things and readying ourselves to head home for the evening. Suddenly, Cameron sat at the head of the table and gestured for Chase and I to sit, too. We shared a look, and he shrugged in a "why not?" manner, so we both settled into our own chairs.

"Have you two ever heard of the Nervous Game?"

Those were her exact words, frank and blunt and to the point. And even as Chase and I both shook our heads, having never heard of such a game, I felt a strange attraction to the game, and, at the same time, a foreboding apprehension.

Cameron smiled. "I thought not. Well, we've already started playing."

"But how?" Chase asked looking perplexed. "Foreman and I have never even heard of it. We don't know any of the rules, or what to do even."

Cameron held up a hand for silence. "And that's why I'm going to explain them to you." She cleared her throat, and put on a business-like tone. "The Nervous Game is quite simple, really...there are no exact rules, so I've come up with a few simple ones to be followed, and there is only one goal: make the other players feel as uncomfortable as possible." She smiled and sat back, quite satisfied with herself.

I sighed. "Okay, I'll bite...what is the Nervous Game?"

"Glad you asked, Foreman. The Nervous Game was something I played in high school with my friends. You pretty much just screw with other people's heads, pushing them to their breaking point, the point where they can't stand how inappropriate what you're doing is..."

"I don't think I like where this is heading," I broke in, and Cameron glared at me.

"Give me a chance to finish explaining, and you'll change your mind. See, you just make little comments, and touch people nonchalantly, make them unable to ignore your presence, no matter how badly they want to.

"And now, the rules: anything goes, meaning kissing, hugging, touching, caressing, etcetera, etcetera. However, take any attempt past the heavy petting stage, and you're out. Breaking the aforementioned rules will call for your immediate disqualification and expulsion from the Game. If you have any questions or concerns, you can come to me, seeing as I'm kind of the Game Master, or whatever you want to call it. Oh, and you _can _toy with other people outside the original Game-starters, but once they start looking at you cross-eyed, you have to tell them what's going." She stopped for breath, grinning brightly. "Sound fun?"

"It sounds..." Chase struggled for the right word. He looked so confused, I wanted to hand him a dictionary to ease the strain on his cerebellum.

But instead, I finished his sentence, "Interesting?"

He nodded, and looked at Cameron. "It has the opportunity to prove interesting, maybe even enjoyable, but..." He shrugged. "It just seems so _wrong_, doesn't it?"

Cameron sighed. "You're missing the point. It's _supposed _to be wrong. You're supposed to push someone so far, make them feel so uncomfortable, that they can't stand to let you go any farther. The whole Game is based on manipulation, and using people, and screwing with their minds. So...you two in, or not?"

After a silent moment, Chase nodded weakly. "Why not?"

I sighed, and glanced at Cameron, studying her face. "I don't think it's a good idea. All we need to do is tick off the wrong person, and we'll all be out of the job."

Cameron shook her head. "Then we keep it between us. All right?"

I don't know why I agreed. But I did, and it's done, and I can never take it back. How was I (or any of us, really) supposed to know how easily this simple Game could spin out of control, resulting in disastrous events?


	3. Time In

**_Author's Note: I finally managed to finsih this chapter and post it, so please enjoy. It's a bit humorous, but the story will get darker in coming chapters, if you haven't been able to gather that from the foreshadowing. Please, read and leave me a review, and keep an eye out for the next chapter._**

**Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are merely my pawns, to be played with when I so wish in the world of fan fiction.

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**_game_ (_adj_)- eager and willing to do something new or challenging **

The next day, clouds hung low in the sky, and fog crept up the streets, bringing with them the reminder of what I had agreed to last night. That damn Game...utter stupidity. I chided myself for agreeing to play, resigned myself to the fact that I couldn't change what was already done, and headed for work. Upon arriving at the office, I was greeted by the sight of Cameron and Chase in a lip lock atop the table, and an immediate wave of nausea. God knows what had led to this, and I was perfectly content to leave it that way. I felt horrible breaking up their make-out session, but I took a deep breath and opened the door, entering as noisily as possible.

"Morning," I greeted them, getting no response. I rolled my eyes and pushed Chase's foot out of the way of an empty chair, dropping my stuff into it. "Good morning," I said more loudly, prodding Chase in the back this time for effect.

Neither of them seemed to care much that I was there, if they even noticed my existence at all. It took me another moment to realize why: the Game. The entire point, as Cameron had so kindly pointed out the night before, was to make people nervous, uncomfortable. If one of them gave up, he or she would lose, giving the winner bragging rights. I sighed. Utter stupidity.

I had to end this. As much as I hated to do it, I prodded Chase again, then began to rub his back, cringing the entire time, slowly moving into a shoulder massage. But hey, it worked. A moment later, Chase leaped from the table and sputtered, "What the hell are you doing?"

I shrugged, muttering something about how it was the only way I could get their attention, while Cameron just laughed and smiled. "That, my dear, is how you play the Nervous Game. Oh, and you just lost round one."

Chase's mouth dropped open, and he looked about to argue (or, maybe, ask for a rematch), but Cameron just laughed and flounced off to her seat. I followed her lead and took the seat next to her, while Chase slunk to the counter to get himself a cup of coffee. House entered a moment later, and the work day began. Unfortunately, I couldn't concentrate during the differential because Cameron's hand never left my knee. Finally, I shoved it off, only to feel her fingers trailing up my thigh not a second later. Oh jeez. I pushed her away again, and this time, she slid a note my way: _You lose. _Apparently, Cameron loved to win.

But I retaliated at lunchtime. We all headed down to the cafeteria for some food, and I found myself on line behind Cameron, waiting for food. I saw my opportunity as we came up to the dessert portion, and I leaned across her to grab a bowl, so my eyes were right at her chest. She didn't say anything, though, which I had expected. She remained silent, at least until I slapped her butt and said something about how great she looked in her outfit, or something to that effect. Now _that _got a response. A hard slap across the face, to be exact.

Only a few weeks later, this moment would seem trivial, but at the second, it hurt like hell. My cheek stung, and I bore the red mark of Cameron's wrath for the rest of the day, but it was worth it. I had obviously won this round.

And for the rest of the day, the none-too-subtle remarks and caresses continued. A "Hey, baby," here, a smart-assed, "Come here often?" there, and the Game got into full swing. Chase and I even got into a fake argument about who would get to fondle Cameron next...weird, I know. But what can I say? That's the Nervous Game for you.

Compared to the lunchtime "fun," however, the rest of the day passed relatively calmly. It wasn't until Chase and I swapped stories two days later that I found out about his run-in with Cameron in the lab. Honestly, it had began when she and I were in there running tests on the patient. I assumed the Game wouldn't get in the way of our work; I was wrong.

I was checking out the patient's blood under a microscope, on a hunch that the computer had screwed up the results. I don't remember what I found, but I do remember the feeling of Cameron's fingers being drawn across my shoulders. I shivered involuntarily and shook my head, but said nothing. I left a few minutes later, and the look on Cameron's face was priceless: a mix of frustration and near-rage. I didn't know she'd get that upset if she made an attempt and it was blatantly ignored.

Well, anyway, I wandered off, passing Chase in the hall. "You know where Cameron is?" he asked

I pointed in the direction I'd come from and replied, "In the lab. But I warn you: she's in a playful mood."

My response was met with a large grin as Chase took off for the lab. "That's the best mood to be in to play the Nervous Game."

Now, from here on out, I'm merely rewriting what was described to me. I apologize in advance if it gets too crude, but Chase was in quite an..._interesting_ mood when he told me about the little encounter between him and Cameron. Apparently, after I spoke to him in the hall, Chase made his way to the lab. As he drew nearer to it, he could make out the first few strains of a song, and soon identified it as The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Prince's "Kiss." You know, "You don't have to be beautiful/to turn me on," and all that. Anyway, as he drew closer, the music grew louder, and he peered through the glass wall of the lab. His eyes widened.

Cameron had shed her lab coat and, staring into a microscope with her glasses still perched on her nose, she was bouncing along to the beat of the music, her hair swaying gently behind her. Then, she stepped away from the microscope to collect the results of one test or another from the printer across the room, dancing her way over. That was then she really let go, twirling and leaping and just having _fun_, for once in her life. That was also when Chase decided to make his grand entrance.

He opened the door and slid in, the music surprisingly loud once one had actually entered the room. He strolled over to Cameron, noting that what he assumed was her iPod was hooked up to a nearby computer, blasting Prince out of the small speakers. When he tapped her on the shoulder, she whirled in surprise, then smiled as he bowed formally and asked, "May I have this dance?"

She nodded, and they began to dance, both planning their respective next moves. Cameron put her plan of attack into action first, dancing closer and closer, pressing her body against his, and leaning in to kiss him. He gladly met her halfway, leaning down so their lips met. They continued swaying to the music, and laughed quietly as the kiss ended, both finding some unknown fact amusing. Perhaps they found the idea of them together funny, maybe the absurdity of the Nervous Game itself had finally dawned on them; the world will never know.

Whatever the case was, they stood together another moment, still locked in an embrace that any who passed the lab would notice. The song changed to something with a more demanding bass line and a quicker beat, and in Cameron's moment of hesitation, Chase grabbed the opportunity presented to him, bringing her to him again for another kiss and pinning her against the counter. Cameron was a bit stunned by the move, but she pushed his lab coat off his shoulders, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed...and kissed. I apologize for the lack of detail, but I'd really rather not write more than is necessary for you to understand what was going on, if you catch the drift. But, moving on, after they more or less made out on the lab counter for a good five minutes or so, and neither seemed ready to give in, Chase decided to up the ante. And then, okay, well...he put his hand up her shirt. He says it was just to get one step closer to winning the Game, but honestly, he looked pretty damn excited as he told me this little tidbit of information.

But I digress. After numerous attempts at feeling her up, Chase was getting the feeling he had a chance of winning this round of the Game. Finally, as he fumbled with her bra, Cameron pushed Chase off her and readjusted her shirt. "I'm sorry, I just can't..."

Chase smirked at her. "Oh, but, my dear, that's how you play the Nervous Game," he replied, throwing her words back in her face. With one last kiss on the forehead, he strode out of the lab, leaving Cameron not angered, but smiling slightly. She was happy, not pissed, because we were finally getting the hang of the Game she loved.

Other than those few events, nothing very exciting happened the following day, as we continued to discreetly take part in our new favorite pastime. The Game seemed like fun, especially when all those included knew what they were doing and how to play well, and we continued this way for the entirety of Wednesday. But Wednesday evening, everything changed once more, and the Game transformed from a fun way of killing down time at work and screwing with each other, and became a much more fierce, emotionally-charged competition.


	4. Bending the Rules

**_Author's Note: I know it's short, but the next chapter will be a bit longer. It all seems like fun and games now, but things will start to go downhill soon, jus to warn you..._**

**Disclaimer: Employ the Socratic Method here: The most obvious answer is most often the right one. Do you _really _think I own _House, MD_?

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**_game_ (_n_)- a competitive activity involving skill, chance, or endurance on the part of two or more persons who play according to a set of rules, usually for their own amusement of for that of spectators**

The clouds had been gathering high above throughout that dismal Wednesday, and now a light rain began to fall as we once again found ourselves gathered in the diagnostics office. This time, Cameron had told us there would be a meeting at seven o'clock sharp, and Chase and I were both right on time. Cameron had taken the spot she obviously felt she deserved, at the head of the table. Chase and I took seats on either side of her, and sat quietly, awaiting her announcement.

"I think it's time we changed the rules," she said, then fell silent once more, letting her words hang in the air between us. I glanced at Chase, who shrugged in response, and then turned my gaze to Cameron.

"Why?" I asked. "I thought we were getting along fine playing the way we are now." Chase nodded vigorously, and I smiled slightly. At that point, I didn't know what had happened between him and Cameron, but from the look on his face, I knew something big must have.

But Cameron shook her head stubbornly. "No. The original rules are too simple, too unimaginative. We're doctors, guys. We should be able to come up with something more challenging."

I sighed. "And I'm guessing you already have." She grinned mischievously. "Of course. The goal is the same, but the rules are a bit different. Last time, if you took something too far, you were kicked out of the Game. But now, take it as far as you want. Sex is allowed. Any problems with that?" She glanced around the table. Chase shook his head, and I just shrugged. I was already losing anyway, having taken an only slight interest in the Nervous Game, and I didn't plan on having to take anything that far. With _either_ of them.

Cameron smiled. "Good. And, I've decided to take the nervous part a step farther, too. Coming onto people is fun, but we can do better. As a player of the Game, you can now manipulate people to find out their deepest fears...then use those fears against them."

I rolled my eyes but remained silent. This was getting more ridiculous by the minute. But one look at Chase told me he didn't think it was quite so stupid. All the color had drained from his face, leaving him ashen. I didn't know then what fear he had to hide, but I guessed that it had to be pretty bad, something he didn't want us to find out.

"So, are we agreed on the new rules of the Game?" Cameron looked from me to Chase, and then back to me, her eyes so full of hope, it made me want to puke. I was almost completely disgusted with how excited she got over this damn Game, but I had agreed to play, and who was I to argue now? So, with a slight nod, I signified that I would continue to play.

Cameron turned her gaze to Chase, as did I. He sat silently a moment and swallowed hard, still pale as a ghost, then nodded weakly. "I guess I'll play, too."

Cameron smiled and nodded, apparently satisfied, then stood and gathered her things. "All right, then. Night, guys...see you tomorrow." With that, she strode out of the office and made for the elevator, leaving Chase and I alone.

Following Cameron's example, I, too, stood and shrugged my coat on and threw my bag over my shoulder. Chase, however, remained in his seat, staring into space, lost in thought. "Look, if you want to drop out of this stupid Game, I will, too," I told him, feeling exceptionally generous. "You don't look happy about the latest turn of events...you don't have to play anymore if you don't want to."

Chase looked up at me. He was obviously grateful for the offer, but he seemed to force himself to decline, shaking his head and replying, "Thanks, Foreman, but I can't let Cameron have the satisfaction of winning."

We shared a laugh as he finally stood and prepared to leave for the night. We rode the elevator down to the lobby together, then bid each other farewell at the front of the hospital, going our separate ways, already creating elaborate schemes to carry out the following day.

If only I'd tried harder to get him to leave the Game. If only I'd been able to end the Nervous Game before anything happened. If only, if only, if only...but I didn't.


	5. The Point System

**_Author's Note: First, before anyone goes off on me, my disclaimer last chapter was wrong. Occam's Razor states something along the lines of "The simplest answer is most often the right one," or somthing like that, not the Socratic Method. So I apologize. Secondly, I lied about no ships. But, one ship IS necesscary for the movement of the plot...please don't stop reading if you don't like the ship I use in the coming chapters. If you do, you'll miss alot... _**

**Disclaimer: The characters mentioned within the confinds of this story are not mine, but belong to those big wigs who own Fox, and _House_, and all that junk. But please, enjoy the story:D

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**_game_ (_n_)-a trick or strategy**

The rain continued all through the night, and was a full-fledged downpour by the time I left for work Thursday, heavy clouds above, with a thick fog moving in. Armed with an umbrella, warm coffee, and a plan for my first prank of the day, I left for work earlier than I usually did that day, in order to reach the office before Cameron or Chase (and luckily succeeded in doing so). Shaking out my umbrella on the carpet House had so vehemently fought to keep, I stood it against the wall and shed my coat, draping it over the back of a chair. Then, I began making the coffee, making up two cups the way my coworkers loved it, with an added ingredient: a plastic bug from the toy store down the street. I slipped a cockroach into Chase's mug, and a millipede into Cameron's, and then settled down with my own, bug-free liquid to await my colleagues.

Chase showed up first. His color had returned from the meeting the previous night, though it still seemed as if he hadn't slept. I felt for the guy, really. He didn't seem to like the idea of the new rules very much. But I still handed him the cup of coffee.

He took one hesitant sip, then another, longer draft. The second time, he sputtered, spewing coffee anywhere but back in the mug, and spit out the plastic cockroach. He examined the toy in his hand, then began to laugh. I smirked triumphantly and settled back in my chair, confident that I could now be a real contender for winner of the Game.

Chase tossed the plastic bug in the trash can, then set his coffee cup down on the table to shrug off his coat and brush water from his otherwise-perfect hair. Once he was seated, he examined his cup a moment before finishing off the coffee in one gulp.

"Did you do the same to Cameron's?"

I nodded, and we both laughed, just imagining Cameron's reaction to the unexpected visitor in her coffee. Glancing up, I noticed her coming down the hall, and gestured for Chase to shut up. When she entered the room, bearing a strong resemblance to a drowned rat, I held out the warm coffee to her, which she took gratefully, taking a sip. This time, the insect hit it's mark with the first sip, and the contents of Cameron's mouth went flying across the room in a spray of caffeinated liquid. She stared at the insect in her cup a second, then dropped the mug and leaped back a foot, screeching, "Call an exterminator! We've got bugs!"

By that time, Chase and I were gone, collapsed in a fit of hysterics. "It's...it's a toy," I managed, gasping for breath. "It's plastic."

Chase picked up the mug, still chuckling, and pulled the millipede out of the cup, dangling it before Cameron's eyes. "See?"

She scowled and shoved his hand away, retching once more before taking her seat. "Who did it?"

The barely-controlled rage was evident in her voice. Chase was quick to give me up, barely hesitating before pointing a finger at me, still trying to suppress a smile. "Traitor," I muttered, getting up to get myself another cup of coffee. A moment later, I felt Cameron's hand on my shoulder once more, the way I had that Monday when the Game had first began.

"Nice job," she whispered in my ear, holding out her mug to me. "Now get me some more coffee. Cream, sugar...no creepy-crawlies." She smirked and returned to her seat, just in time for House to wander in and start distributing the day's orders.

The rest of the day was business as usual, with a few surprises thrown in: switched charts, walking in on random make-out sessions, cookies doused in laxatives (I won't even go into that). The one noticeable change was in the tone of the Game. Whereas before it had all been fun and games, screwing with each other and adding a bit of entertainment to an otherwise boring week, it had now become, somehow, much darker. For every pass made or lame pick-up line dropped, a deep question was asked. We were trying to dig into each others' histories, learn more about each other, and discover anything that could be used for a new prank, and, at times, I felt like I was in the middle of a police interrogation than just a nonchalant conversation between colleagues at work (looking back, though, I'd take those short, tense conversations over a police interview any day).

Another difference was that at the start of the Game, we had been having actual _fun_, taking part in this whole game for laughs. But now, aside from the occasional joke or prank, everyone seemed to be on edge, Chase especially. Cameron was constantly near him, asking questions and probing into his personal life, as well as throwing herself at him. It had at last occurred to her that I wouldn't bend to her whims as easily, and the only way to get to me was with a well thought out plan.

So the day wore on, and we continued to play. Finally, the already-darkened sky grew darker with early night, a curse of the bitter winter occurring outside, and the day wound down. There was no meeting that night, but as I opened my umbrella, a slip of paper floated to the ground. I peered at it a silent moment, then kicked it cautiously, fearing another one of Cameron's pranks. Judging it to be safe (and unsure as to what _exactly_ I had thought she'd done to the paper), I bent over and collected the sheet from the carpet. It was a sheet from a prescription pad, bearing the title, "Dr. Allison Cameron, MD." Upon it was a note, scrawled in Cameron's un-doctor-ly neat handwriting:

_It has occurred to me that we have no way of deciding upon a winner. Thus, I have devised a list of points awarded for each activity completed during the course of the Game. This point system goes into effect immediately, and points may be awarded for pranks carried out today. And one more thing: this is all based on the honor system. Only award yourself points for stunts you pull. Whatever you give yourself points for must be explained to the others players upon a day's completion of the Nervous Game, and corroborated by another player. _

_The point system is as follows: 10 points shall be awarded for every prank pulled (per player tricked); 15 points for discovering (and using) a fear or secret against another player; 5 points for pick-up lines used on colleagues, or seductive comments made to others; 7 points for effectively seducing a colleague into a kiss (only 5 points for a failed attempt); 15 points for anything from a make-out session to foreplay; 30 points for actual sex. _

_Got it? Good. Any disputes in point-awarding may be brought to me, seeing as I am more or less the Game Master, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Don't forget to keep track of your score--we'll hold nightly meetings to track everyone's progress._

_Let the games begin!_

_--Cameron_

I folded the note and shoved it into my pocket, chuckling slightly. Cameron thought of everything; I had to give her that. I'd have to do a true count later, but my score at the moment was at least in the sixties or seventies, a worthy score for the Game if I did say so myself. Little did I know that Cameron and Chase were already busy boosting both their scores in the broom closet I passed on my way out of the hospital...

Anyway, I left the building, umbrella overhead to shield myself from the rain, squinting into the fog that seemed a near solid by that time. I unlocked my car door and climbed in, slipping the key into the ignition and letting the motor idle. I pulled the note from my pocket and studied it once more, smiling slightly. Things were about to get exciting, I knew it.

I just never stopped long enough to seriously consider whether I meant "exciting" in a good way...or, perhaps, a bad one.


	6. From the Diary of Allison Cameron

**_Author's Note: This chapter is told in intermitent parts. The italicized parts are excerpts from Cameron's diary, while the normal parts are actual dialogue, told from the third person point of view. But don't worry; Foreman will be back as narrator within the next chapter or two. :)_**

**Disclaimer: I own no part of _House, MD_, and probably never will...all I do is write fanfiction.

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**_game _(_n_)-any object of pursuit, attack, abuse, etc.

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_From the Diary of Allison Cameron_

_...Ever since I introduced the boys at work to the Nervous Game, I think we've all been having a lot of fun, and, in some perverse way, bonding. Foreman's not very enthusiastic, but I must admit, he's a master at pulling pranks and practical jokes. And Chase, well...he's a damn fine kisser, I'll give him that. Which is why I set my sights on him from the start, and why I asked him back to my apartment last night...

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"Thanks for inviting me over," Chase said, following Cameron into her darkened apartment.

She flipped a switch and flooded the living room with light, shrugging off her coat and gesturing for his. "No problem." When he had handed over his jacket, she hung them both in the hall closet, then disappeared into her kitchen, digging deep into her refrigerator. "Want anything to drink?" she called to him, her voice slightly muffled by the door of the appliance.

"Whatever you've got is fine," he replied, wandering farther into the apartment to await her return. She reappeared a moment later, a glass of wine in each hand, and handed him one. "Cheers," he said, raising the glass.

"To the Game," Cameron replied, smiling, as she clinked her glass against his, and they both took a long sip of the liquid. Cameron sighed contentedly as she placed her glass on her coffee table, then took a seat on the couch. Chase did the same, clasping his own glass in his hands, and the awkward conversation portion of the night began.

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_...I was nervous, I must admit, but he seemed nervous, too. Funny how I write that like it's a bad thing...I mean, that's what the Game's about, isn't it? Anyway, we talked and talked, and drank some more wine, and the next thing I knew, I was leading him to my bedroom, with no thoughts of the Game, only of being with him again...

* * *

_

It was about three o'clock when they finally collapsed together on the bed, gasping for breath and groping for each other in the darkness. The rain continued, pounding against the window pane, thick storm clouds blocking out the nearly-full moon. They kissed again...probably the thousandth time their lips had found each other within the last few hours. They lay together, regaining their breaths and letting their bodies calm from the physical exertion, then Cameron laid her head on Chase's chest, and he kissed the top of her head. They remained silent a few peaceful moments, and soon drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_...That night was one of the few times in my life I've actually been truly happy. And it wasn't just about the sex (though it _was_ great); I felt something between us, something that maybe had been festering for months now, even years, something I had forced myself to ignore, or maybe had simply been too blind to see. But since last night, I know we'll make this, whatever it is, work...

* * *

_

After days of dismal gray, the rain had finally ceased, and a few rays of sunshine were able to break their way through the stubborn clouds still gathered high overhead. It was Friday, the last day of the work week, but it was the beginning of...well, something. What Cameron and Chase felt for each other wasn't quite love just yet, but it had become more than primal lust, and a need to win the Game. It was the beginning of a relationship, and one they were both sure they could make work.

It was six in the morning when Cameron stumbled out of her bedroom, wrapped in her old terrycloth robe, and into her kitchen, starting a pot of coffee. It wasn't long before Chase followed, wearing only the slacks he'd left work in the night before, and wrapped his arms around her neck, kissing her cheek tenderly. "Good morning."

She smiled and placed a hand over his, pulling out coffee mugs with her free hand. "Morning. Want some coffee?"

"Always." He released her, and she went to work, setting up two mugs of the steaming liquid. She turned and handed one to him, which he accepted gratefully, leaning against her refrigerator nonchalantly, and she propped herself against the counter opposite him.

They sipped at their mugs in silence, eyeing each other and concentrating on waking up, until Chase began, "Last night..." His voice trailed off and Cameron nodded encouragingly, waiting patiently for him to complete the thought. But Chase struggled with the words. What exactly was he trying to get at here? "Last night," he tried again, "was...amazing. And I just want to make sure..." He faltered again. Did he really want to ask? Did he really want to know the answer to his question? Yes. Oh God, yes.

"I wanted to make sure that it wasn't all just for the sake of the Game," he said, finally deciding upon the right words. "I want to know how you feel about me...us...the two of us together. I want to make sure that I won't get...crushed." He looked up and met her eyes, shrugging helplessly. She half-smiled weakly, the emotion obvious in his eyes. None of this was an act. There was only pure, honest emotion in his eyes: hope, a fear of failure, maybe even something like love. Most of all, a prayer was evident, a silent prayer that she would say she'd felt the connection, too.

"It wasn't just about the Game," Cameron replied at last. "I felt something last night, maybe _have_ felt something, for a long time. I think...I think we should give it a try. I think I'd like to be with you." As if for her own comfort more than just for his, she reiterated once again, "It wasn't just for the Game."

He smiled, now, and stepped forward, placing his coffee on the counter behind her. She did the same, and when she turned back, they were inches apart, a tiny gap closed with one movement, a slow lean into each other which ended in yet another passionate kiss. Once the coffee was gone and the sun beckoned for another day to begin, Chase redressed and made for the apartment door.

"I'll see you later, then, at work." He paused at the door and took her elbow, drawing her to him for one last kiss, which she returned gladly.

"Later," she replied as they moved apart. She watched his hand rest on the doorknob in a moment of uncertainty, debating internally whether to leave or stay. But they had decided that calling in sick would only get House pissed (and curious), and that going into work was the best course of action.

He finally turned the knob and pulled open the door, but turned again to kiss her again before muttering, "Good bye."

"I'll see you later," she responded in farewell, letting her hand rest on his arm a beat longer than she normally would have, and then trailing her fingers down his skin. "Drive carefully."

"Yeah, yeah, I will." He smiled at her concern, gave a little wave, and then he was gone.

* * *

_...and when he'd gone, I felt like my world as I knew it was going to crumble. The night hadn't been for the Game, hadn't occurred simply for thirty points; we had both agreed on that. And we had seemingly agreed to make whatever we had work._

_So why can't I stop thinking about how easy it will now be to get hidden secrets from Chase, secrets I can use against him for the sake of this damn Game? _

_And why do I feel something terrible is going to happen?_


	7. TGIF & Saturday Night

**_Author's Note: I tried to make this chapter longer, but still end it at the spot where you'll be left in the most suspense. (hee hee) I'm currently working on the next chapter, so it shouldn't be long. But please, I beg you: read slow!_**

**Disclaimer: The characters portrayed on _House, MD_ are not mine...I'm just borrowing them. : )

* * *

**

**_game_ (_n_)- a single occasion of an activity, or a definite portion of one **

Friday was quite a strange day, if I do say so myself. Cameron and Chase were both overly perky about everything, especially when they were doing something together. I even offered to do House's clinic duty for a few hours, just to escape their "secret" glances and none-too-subtle comments to each other. I didn't know what had gone on after I had left work the night before, but something _huge_ must have. The incident in the lab was small change compared to this.

We all reconvened for lunch in the cafeteria. The pranks and flirting had been much more toned down than any of the other days, with only a few tricks and less-than-imaginative schemes being carried out. But at our table in the corner, as we tried to choke down the day's "mystery meat," Chase slid his chair closer to Cameron's and draped an arm over the back of her chair, while she let her hand drop to his knee. Something about the nonchalance of the moment and air of complete calm (the complete opposite of the tense, stifling feeling I had been expecting) made me realize that the Game, quite possibly, was coming to an end.

We made small talk for awhile, and Cameron made sure to remind us about a dozen times that we were going to meet at the end of the day to do the official point tally. Cameron and Chase leaned close together, sharing stories and chatting. Finally, about halfway through our midday meal, Cameron leaned into Chase's ear. I tried to ignore them, but it was kind of hard, what with them right across the table and all. But anyway, I heard her ask him quietly, "What are you afraid of?"

I arched an eyebrow while Chase pulled away slightly and studied her face a moment. "Clowns," he dead-panned. "They scare the shit out of me."

Cameron laughed and prodded him lightly. "Come on, be serious. I mean what terrifies you? What's your most guarded fear?"

I shared a glance with Chase and sighed. This wasn't going anywhere good.

Chase looked at the ground a moment, then glanced at me before looking back to Cameron. "Maybe later," he told her quietly, and I rolled my eyes.

"You trust her more than you trust me?" I asked in disbelief, and the response was a resolute nod. I shook my head solemnly, stood and picked up my trash, and said, "Whatever. See you later."

Now, all I know of the following conversation was told to me by Cameron the following night, after I received a frantic phone call from her after midnight...but more about that later. I don't want to put anything out of sequence.

Anyway, after I stalked off, Cameron and Chase sat in silence for a few moments, when suddenly Chase said, "I have a fear. A phobia, actually."

Cameron looked at him, studying his eyes, and saw the sheer terror there, a terror brought about by just thinking of his phobia. "You don't have to tell me," she murmured quietly, having serious second thoughts about toying with him.

But Chase shook his head. "No, I want to tell you...I want you to know." He lowered his voice even more. "I've been seeing a psychiatrist for the last few years, even before I left Australia. And even though we don't know exactly why I have it just yet, I was diagnosed with nyctohylophobia, a fear of dark wooded areas, or forests at night." He smiled sheepishly. "Stupid, I know..."

Cameron shook her head. "It's not," she insisted. "Everyone has something they fear." Even as she spoke these comforting words, her brain was busy at work, planning out her next scheme.

Chase looked at her, relief evident on his face. "Thank you. So...tomorrow's Saturday. What are we doing?" He smirked at her.

Cameron forced a grin to her face and thought of telling him nothing, telling him to forget it, that they'd do something together another time, that the Game should be ended before they went anywhere together. But instead, she stood and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I have my ideas," she replied coyly. "I'll call you later." And with that, she strolled off.

Finally, the day was winding down. House had gone home for the night, and we had gathered for our meeting in the diagnostics office. Cameron was at the head of the table once again, and Chase and I took our respective places to her right and left.

"Has everyone prepared their scores?" she asked solemnly, and I had the strangest feeling that I was in some crazy cult as Chase and I nodded and handed over our papers. She glanced over the scores, and muttered to Chase, "Did you include last night?"

My eyes widened thinking of what could've happened. I watched Chase shake his head slowly and reply, "Should we?"

Cameron shook her head resolutely. "No. It had nothing to do with this Game."

Chase seemed quite content with the ruling as he leaned heavily on the table, letting a hand fall to Cameron's leg. She gave him a small smile, then said, "All right, the results are as follows: Foreman, you've got 82 points, Chase has 78, and I've got 125." She grinned. "Guess I'm winning."

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "What a surprise..." as the meeting broke up. We rode the elevator down to the lobby together and exited the hospital in a group, chatting about the day that had just ended. In the parking lot, we split up, and I made for my car, while Chase and Cameron walked hand in hand for his. As I climbed behind the steering wheel of my own car, I couldn't help but smile. They seemed like they could really make whatever they had together work. That thought alone was enough to make the events of the next few months even more tragic.

* * *

_From the Diary of Allison Cameron_

_...I gave Chase a ride home last night, and ended up spending the night with him (again). And what's sick is that as I drove myself home this morning, still feeling his lips on mine and his hands all over me, I couldn't stop thinking about how brilliant my new plan to screw with him is. _

_We made plans to meet late this afternoon, and I'll put my plan into action then. And despite the risks, despite the fact that he might end up hating me by the end of the night, I have a strange urge to go ahead with it anyway. This damn Game has taken over my life...and I actually kind of like it life this way...

* * *

_

It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, the perfect day for carrying out weekend plans with family and friends. The sun shone high above, a welcome reprieve from the rain of the past work week (even if more showers were promised by early Sunday morning), and the air had only a slight chill to it, a light breeze blowing across the city.

Cameron swung by Chase's apartment to pick him up at three in the afternoon. He met her outside his apartment building, and she told him that he was in for a surprise. They drove out of Princeton, and were soon on a narrow road lined with an assortment of trees, packed tightly into a dense forest. Cameron pulled off into a small dirt parking lot and parked her car, turning the key in the ignition and cutting the motor. The forest was completely silent, save the rustling of leaves as the wind rushed through the trees.

Cameron looked at Chase and grinned, grabbing a backpack from the backseat. "Well, come on." She climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind her, leaving him sitting alone in the silent car. She turned at the edge of the trees and paused, waiting for him to join her.

Chase slowly climbed out of the car a few moments later, and took slow, hesitant steps towards Cameron, stopping short a few feet from her. "Did I mention that I have nyctohylophobia?"

Cameron sighed and closed the gap between them, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Chase, I have faith in you. You can _beat_ this...you can overcome your fear."

"Fears are simple to overcome," Chase replied blandly. "Phobias take years of psychiatric visits and heavy drugs to help, and people are usually never even completely cured of them."

Cameron released him from her grasp, took a step back, and studied his face a moment. "Chase," she tried again, "please. Come with me. I want to show you my favorite spot in the woods, my favorite, well-lit spot." She half-smiled at him, and added, "Plus, it's not even dark yet."

"It's twilight," he pointed out, taking a step forward, then following Cameron to the edge of the trees.

As they walked along, Cameron replied, "Barely. I'll have you in and out before you know it. And who knows?" She paused and leaned into him, whispering in his ear, "You might not want to leave." She kissed him once quickly and slid her hand down his arm, intertwining her fingers with his. "Now, come on, before it actually get dark." Chase smiled at her, and allowed her to lead him down a winding, confusing path deeper and deeper into the trees.

After thirty minutes of wandering, Cameron broke through the trees with a triumphant cry, and she and Chase stopped to survey the scene before them. They were at the edge of a small clearing, a few feet of empty grass sloping gently to the banks of a quite large, natural lake. The forest continued across the lake, a row of dense trees marking where the foliage took over once more, and the surface of the water was calm and smooth. The sun was near the tops of the trees, dangerously close to dipping below them and, eventually, the horizon, and a few small clouds floated lazily through the pink-hued sky.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Cameron asked in a whisper, releasing Chase's hand and taking a few steps forward, then settling on the ground. She turned back to watch his reaction, which was a mere slow nod as he stared in awe at the wonders of nature surrounding them, then beckoned for him to join her.

Cameron had planned it all out ahead of time. Her backpack held a bottle of wine with plastic cups, and assorted snack foods, as well as a blanket to sit on. They ate and drank and talked for a long while, watching the sun drop below the trees, throwing long shadows across the water and ground, and continued to sit even as the colors faded from the sky and the sun made its final farewell, falling below the horizon and plunging the world into darkness.

As night descended on the forest, Chase tried his best to remain calm, but soon found himself fidgeting, and eventually, his hands began to tremor slightly. He clasped them together, trying to keep them still and also keep his mind at ease, even as the darkness deepened, though what he really wanted to do was flee for civilization. He would give anything to get as many miles between himself and this damn forest he found himself sitting in, as the time grew near eight o'clock at night. Sure, it was a beautiful place, a wonderful night to be out with someone you cared about, alone and secluded, hidden from the bustle of everyday life. But he couldn't help but want to leave.

The moon was nearly full, and hung high above in the velvety black sky. The clouds began to accumulate once more, growing larger and moving menacingly towards the moon, threatening to block out its bright white light, the only thing that was keeping Chase anywhere near sanity among the trees. He glanced at the sky for the twelfth time in three minutes, and observed, "The clouds are rolling in again."

"Yeah, it's supposed to start raining again soon," Cameron replied, following her statement with a sigh. "I wish we could stay longer, but I guess we'd better get going."

Chase felt like jumping for joy, but kept his cool. "Um, all right, sure. That would be smart."

Cameron gave a small, knowing smile, and rubbed his shoulder gently. "You all right for one more surprise before we go?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice. Even as she spoke, she was considering forgetting her plan. Chase seemed scared out of his mind, which scared her, and she didn't want anything to hurt him. And if she did carry out her scheme, would they laugh about it later? Or would she end up scarring him for life?

"I suppose so." He grinned at her, and she forced a smile back. Could she do this?

"All right," she heard herself say, her mind a bit behind her actions as she flew through the practiced speech on autopilot. "I have to get back to the car, though; I'll be back in ten minutes." She stood and dusted off her pants. "I'll be right back."

Chase looked up at her and stood, too. "But it took us half an hour to get here..."

Cameron smiled gently and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I showed you the scenic route, but I know a shortcut," she lied. "I swear, ten minutes, tops." She squeezed his shoulder gently, then leaned into him and they shared a short kiss. Cameron pulled away and turned back towards the trees, vanishing into the shadows. She turned back a moment, and Chase raised a hand in farewell, looking terrified and vulnerable in the moonlight. She forced another smile to her lips, gave a small wave, then turned and walked away.

* * *

Ten minutes she'd promised. Ten short minutes, a minuscule amount of time in relation to the length of a human life, mere moments he had promised himself he would survive. But ten minutes had come and gone...about forty-five minutes ago. Another hour began and ended, the moments stretching into an eternity. Chase had begun to pace restlessly an hour and a half ago, glancing into the woods at least three dozen times a minute, anxiously awaiting Cameron's return. He looked down at his watch yet again. The time was just after ten o'clock; he had waited long enough. He set out for the main road on his own. 

The main emotion clouding Chase's mind as he began to stumble through the treacherous, pitch-black forest was pure terror. He felt the trees closing in on him, felt eyes on his back at every step, and feared what could be hidden around every corner, but he continued on, focusing on his confusion instead of his fear.

Yes, there was, of course, confusion directed towards the maze of trees that was the forest, a truly complex structure. But he was also confused at Cameron's behavior. Obviously, this had all been part of a master plot, a scheme whose sole purpose was to scare the shit out of him, and gain Cameron another...what was it? Twenty-five points, so far? Thirty? Despite the seemingly honest statement she'd made two nights before, this had all been for the sake of the Nervous Game.

Another hour went on. Chase was hopelessly lost, and somehow found himself back where he'd started. But the formerly awe-inducing place of natural beauty was now a sinister, dark, evil spot. The clouds had grown larger and darker since he had last noted them hours ago, and now completely covered the moon, blocking all its light from reaching the ground below. The wind had picked up, making waves on the normally calm lake, and rustling the leaves in the trees. Cameron's backpack and blanket sat where Chase had left them in his panicked flee, and he sat heavily upon the blanket now, staring out at the water, his entire body shaking with fear. He was sure anyone with a relatively good sense of smell could scent his fear a mile away.

He'd had enough. How could he get out of this? How could he find his way out of the forest? How could he get back to civilization? How could he hold onto his sanity in this situation?

He stood again, and began pacing once more. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him, the trees swayed, their shadows closing in on him, and he ran blindly into the trees, panting for breath and stumbling over fallen branches and logs, rocks, and abandoned trash. He wild flight ended as he stumbled over a rock, then tripped and fell over an old rotting log. The ground rushed up to meet his face, and a pile of large, sharp-edged rocks and broken wood met his chest. He struggled to his feet, then collapsed again. He was bleeding in numerous places over his chest and stomach, ranging from small scratches to larger wounds that seemed to gush blood. He reached up to touch his head, and felt warmth he knew must be blood, rushing from a large cut on his forehead. He knew head wounds bled a lot, but this was too much, wasn't it? He ran a few more short steps before collapsing again on the grass and dirt, blood pooling to form crimson-hued mud.

He didn't get up again.


	8. RIP Little Duckling & Responsibility

**_Auhtor's Note: How long has it been since I last updated? Well, I guess I've kept you waiting long enough...here's the next chapter of "The Nervous Game." Please read, enjoy, pass it along, play the game...well, maybe not. But please, read and review!! And one more thing: This chapter is in the third person until the line divider, at which point Foreman takes over as narrator again. Just thought I should mention that..._**

**Disclaimer: Does anyone even take the time to read these? They're not mine.

* * *

**

**_game_ (_n_)- an active interest or pursuit, especially one involving competitive engagement or adherence to rules **

Cameron pulled her car into a parking lot nearer her "secret spot" in the forest, a small dirt square hidden amongst the trees. It wasn't an official lot, and was only known to those who had stumbled upon it, but it was a mere five minutes walk from her car to the clearing. She walked the familiar path in complete darkness, relying on instinct rather than eyesight, and was stunned to find the spot completely empty. The blanket was in disarray, like someone had stood up too quickly and neglected to right the blanket again, while her backpack was on its side a foot or so away, empty bags swaying gently in the breeze and containers spilling from the unzipped pocket. She took a few steps more into the clearing, looking around. "Chase?" she called quietly. "Chase? Come on, this isn't amusing." She stood her ground sternly, half-expecting him to jump from the shadows to get back at her for the prank she'd played on him, but no such scare came.

"Please...where are you?" she added meekly. She received no answer, and began to worry. Where was Chase? She turned and went back into the woods, pulling a small flashlight from her backpack and wandering aimlessly for twenty minutes, but always knowing exactly where she was, and where she was headed. Her footsteps became more frantic, her calls louder and more shrill, as she searched for her colleague turned boyfriend, silently chiding herself. No, that wasn't strong enough...she was screaming at herself. How could she leave him alone? She knew he feared the forest at night, and what did she do? Ditch him in the woods at eight o'clock.

She made her way back to the clearing where she'd last seen him, noting the old log coming up, taking care to step over it, and avoid the pile of sharp natural debris beside it. The beam of the light shimmered back at her, and she crouched down, curious, to examine it. She narrowed her eyes at the red liquid dripping off the end of a twig, the same liquid splattered across the ground and surrounding dirt and rocks, and the small pool nearby. Her heart leaped into her throat as she realized what it must be, but pushed the thought away stubbornly. No. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

She followed the trail of crimson a few feet to her right, and soon came upon Chase, sprawled across the cold forest floor, the ever-expanding pool of blood starting beneath his head and chest, then spreading outward across the grass and dirt. Cameron dropped to her knees beside him, the blood soaking into her jeans and dying the knees crimson. She didn't realize she was crying until the back of Chase's shirt showed a small circle of moisture. She gently turned him over to lay on his back, unseeing, clouded eyes staring blankly up into the tree branches intertwined overhead.

She let her head fall to his chest, sobbing and giving a mournful wail. "I'm so sorry...so, so sorry," she cried, gasping for breath and letting tears fall freely from her eyes. She cradled his head in her arms gently, closing his eyes and murmuring, "This wasn't supposed to happen...oh, God, what have I done? What did I do? How could I do this to you, Chase, how could I?"

She turned her face to the sky as a cloud moved from the moon and allowed the area to be bathed in pure white light. "This wasn't supposed to end this way!" she wailed into the night. "We were supposed to be together...this wasn't supposed to happen...!" Her voice rose into another heart-wrenching sob, and she collapsed on the ground beside her lifeless lover, pounding the dirt and tasting salty tears and bitter bile in her mouth. She remained by Chase's side for another hour, crying and muttering, and trying to understand what had happened, why it had happened. It seemed one of those events in life that has no point, from which nothing but pain and sorrow can flow. In her mind, Cameron could think of no justification for Chase's death, and she mourned deeply in that one hour, the forest becoming some kind of temple, a shrine to her fallen love.

As clouds overtook the moon once more, Cameron finally stood weakly and paced around Chase's body slowly. What should she do now? He was obviously dead, long gone, so calling an ambulance seemed stupid. Calling the police made more sense, but what would she say? What the hell was she supposed to tell them? How could she explain? She couldn't. But not calling was worse, wasn't it? That was as good as a confession of guilt. And anyway, though Chase had not died by her own hand, she had, in essence, killed him. Oh God. Her eyes widened as she froze to the spot. She had _killed _him. She had ended his life. _She_ alone was the reason she'd never again feel Chase's lips on hers, or his skin against her own, or hear him whisper in her ear late at night. In one night, she had effectively destroyed a life, terminated a promising career, and ended the life of one of the few people who had actually loved her.

But despite these revelations, despite the feelings that ran deep for him in her very veins, she turned around and left. She turned from his inanimate form and walked away, stalking into the night, and returned to her car. She examined her jeans, assessing the damage, and then pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to Princeton.

But she couldn't go home. He had been in her apartment, had once brought her to such a state of ecstacy she had flown through the following day on that feeling alone. He'd been to her apartment twice, and was already ingrained into the furniture, the walls, and, mostly, her own mind. He would forever be in her memories, forever be a part of her, forever be someone she had loved.

He would also forever be the only man she had ever killed.

She pulled over on a quiet street, apartment buildings lining each side, barely any lights still burning in windows of various apartments down the block. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and punched in a number, listening to the ringing on the other end.

**

* * *

**

I picked up on the third ring. The phone woke me from a sound sleep at a few minutes to midnight, and I rolled over to grab the receiver. "Hello?" I mumbled, still half-asleep.

Muted sobs and frantic words followed my greeting, completely indecipherable and unrecognizable. Whoever it was, I let them ramble on for a few minutes, finally breaking in with, "I'm sorry, but...who is this?"

"Foreman, it's Cameron," she sobbed, gasping in between words for breath, shuddering, quivering sounds.

"Cameron?" I replied in surprise, sitting up in bed. "What's up?"

"Oh, God, Foreman, I don't know why it happened..."

"Why _what_ happened?" I furrowed my brow in concentration, no completely awake, and attempted to follow her wild conversation. "What's wrong?"

She sobbed for a few more moments, then managed, "He's dead, Foreman...oh, God!"

I watched my eyes widen in shock in the mirror across from my bed. "Who is?"

"Chase!"

I jumped out of bed at that, and switched on my bedside light. "Cameron? What are you saying?"

"I killed him," she nearly shrieked, crying. "What did I do, Foreman? He's dead. Chase is gone forever, and _I_ did it..." She paused, but I remained silent, allowing her to continue. "This damn Game...I played a joke on him, and when I got back, he was dead! Just lying there, and there was blood, and dirt, and it was dark, and, oh God, I was so scared, and upset, I don't know what happened after that...I just drove away! I left him there, Foreman! I just left him there, all alone!"

"Cameron, Cameron...listen to me," I demanded, and she fell silent, sniffling and continuing to sob quietly. "This isn't your fault, but you do have to do something...where are you?"

"I don't know...I don't know..." Her voice was meek and quiet, broken by shallow, shuddering breaths and small whimpers as she fought to get herself under control. "Back in Princeton, somewhere, on some street, I don't know..."

"All right, all right, that's fine," I replied, doing my best to keep as calm as possible. "Now, did you call the police?"

"I can't!" she shouted back shrilly. "Oh, God, I can't, Foreman, I just can't...what do I say? What can I tell them? How the hell can I explain all this? What do I say? What if they don't believe me, or say I killed Chase on purpose?"

She carried on for another minute or two, until I finally cut in with, "Cameron! You can't just leave him there, you said so yourself. You have to tell someone."

"I told _you_."

I sighed. She sounded more and more like an incompetent little girl with every passing second. She was hysterical, she wasn't making any sense, and I had no idea what to do to help her through it. Actually, I had no idea what to do at all. "Cameron, go home," I finally said. "I'll...I guess I'll meet you there in a bit, okay?" I waited for a response, then demanded, "_Okay_?"

There was a pause. "All right," she said weakly, and the line went dead.

I threw my phone on the bed and pulled on the clothes I'd worn earlier, jumping in my car and driving to Cameron's apartment building. I got there about twenty minutes later, and climbed the steps to her apartment. She came to the door after one knock, wearing a tee shirt and sweat pants, her wet hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She turned mutely and barely glanced at me, returning to the depths of her dimly-lit living room, leaving me to close the door after me and follow her in.

A trail of blood-stained clothing lay strewn across the front hall, leading back to what I assumed must be the bathroom. Her skin looked red and raw, like she'd scrubbed long and hard at her skin, thinking she could erase the memories of the night, or maybe, completely destroy the past week, and simply return to that Monday morning and change everything, especially the outcome of this night.

Cameron seated herself on the couch, a dazed look in her dark, clouded eyes, and I settled myself beside her gently. "Cameron? Cameron, you have to do something."

She shook her head silently. "I can't," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes once more. "I can't."

"So, you're just going to let him lay there and rot?" I nearly yelled, jumping up again. "Damn it, Cameron, take responsibility for your actions!"

She cowered from my momentary lapse of sanity, hiding from the piercing stare I knew I was giving her. If she could have, I bet she would have burrowed into the couch cushions and never come out. But instead, she was forced to sit there under my judgmental gaze.

"I...can't...call them," she mumbled feebly again, her voice muffled by the arms wrapped protectively around her head. "Not now. Tomorrow."

"You'd just leave him there overnight like that? Lying on the hard dirt floor of some damn forest?" I shot back, and she winced as if I'd struck her. In a way, I suppose, I had.

"I can't," she persisted, looking up at me. "Tomorrow...I swear."

We held each other's eyes a moment, and I finally sighed, relenting. "Fine," I told her quietly. I saw no other way out of the situation, so I held out my hand to her. "Now, get to bed."

She took my hand and hoisted herself heavily from the couch, and I led her to her room, where she burrowed into her covers without bothering to shut off the light. I shut the bedroom door behind me, then left the apartment, swiping an extra set of keys to lock up with. I slowly made my way down to the car and drove home through the quiet city streets, and once I had reached my apartment, I contemplated calling the police, telling them all I knew. But I had faith in Cameron. I had faith she would do the right thing.

I'll tell you...faith is worthless.


	9. The Bearer of Tragic News

**_Author's Note: Um...here's more? Sorry, not sure what to write. Please enjoy this chapter, give me some time to write another one and get it posted, and don't forget to review..._**

**Disclaimers: Fanfiction stories are like games...yeah, I dunno where this is going. I don't own _House, MD_, okay? Yeah, that works-it's short, sweet, and to the point.

* * *

**

**_play games_ (_idiom form of "game"_)- to act in an evasive, deceitful, manipulative, or trifling manner in dealing with others**

I slept through most of Sunday, and, honestly, completely forgot about what I had promised myself before falling asleep early Sunday morning: that I would call Cameron to make sure she called the police. By the time Monday morning rolled around, and I remembered my promise, I assumed she had done it, so I went about my normal morning routine and made for work. Sunday had been cloudy, and it was about the same that Monday morning, though the temperature dropped a few degrees, and the clouds above threatened rain, or possibly snow.

I rode the elevator up to my floor, and made for the diagnostics office. Cameron was there already, seated, completely still, at the table, staring into space. I felt something like a pang in my heart when I realized it would just be the two of us dealing with House that day (and forever more) as I entered the office, greeting Cameron.

"I didn't call," she replied.

I whirled around, stunned. "You..._didn't_...call?" I demanded in a low, dangerous tone.

She shook her head, refusing to meet my eyes. "I couldn't. I told you that."

"Why the hell couldn't you?" I hissed, leaning across the table towards her, inches from her face, glaring daggers at her, keeping my voice low so passers-by outside the office wouldn't hear our conversation.

She broke down into tears again, obviously the hundredth time in the last twenty four hours or so, and just shook her head mutely.

I had a whole speech to launch into then, about responsibility and doing what was right, even when it was hard. But House chose the moment to come limping down the hall, and I pulled away quickly from Cameron and busied myself making coffee. Cameron wiped tears off her cheeks quickly, a millisecond before House entered the office.

He strode into the room, paused a moment to survey the scene, then continued onto his desk, ditching his coat and backpack and returning a moment later. His gaze flowed from me to Cameron, then back to me, as if taking a silent tally. "We seem to be short a duckling." He looked around a moment more, then set his sights on Cameron. "Where's Chase?"

She shrugged. "Dunno," she replied easily, shooting me a split-second don't-you-dare-say-a-word look.

I narrowed my eyes at her, but added, "Didn't he go home with you Friday night?"

She looked at me in horror, pure terror in her eyes, and I shrugged at her and looked away. If she wouldn't call the police on her own accord, maybe I could force her into confessing here, where there were multiple witnesses. But when I looked back at her, the fear was gone, and she was just as calm and cool as ever, replying quietly, "I gave him a ride." She glanced away shyly, as if embarrassed to divulge any further details.

"That the last time you saw him?" House asked off-handedly, and Cameron's head snapped up, her eyes suddenly alight with rage. "What the hell is this, a police interrogation?"

"Up until then, it was a conversation," he replied, "then it sort of became a scary, Cameron-screaming-at-the-boss kinda thing."

Cameron averted her eyes, dropping her head shamefully, and muttering, "I'm sorry."

But House merely rolled with the punches, rising and making for the door. "Don't apologize for hormones." With that snide remark, he was gone.

I abandoned the coffee machine and strode after him, laying a hand on the door handle before Cameron leapt up and intercepted me. "Foreman, wait...please..." she begged desperately.

"What for?" I shot back. "Wait for Chase's body to decompose a little more?"

She slid away from me, her confidence wilting, and whispered, "Why can't you understand that I can't...?"

"...that you can't call the God damn police," I finished, shaking my head. "Yeah, so you've said." She sank into a chair, and I locked my eyes with hers. "Look, I think you and Chase had something going on...I'm not entirely sure what, but something. And if you really cared about him, if you want to give him a little dignity, own up to your mistake and call the police." She held my gaze for a moment after me little speech, then dropped her eyes once more. I sighed and strode to House's desk, taking the cordless phone off the hook and setting it on the table before her. "Make the call," I commanded. She nodded weakly, and I left the room.

* * *

_**From the Affidavit of Detective Michael Tritter**_

...On the morning of Monday, January 29, 2007, at approximately 7:15 AM, I was alerted to a 911 call made a few moments earlier. The caller was one George Sampson, who, according to his later interview, had left his house at about 6:45 AM to walk his dog. He made his way for the forest nearby, and took the same trail he walked almost every morning, along the side of the road and then into the woods at the main parking lot. He entered the forest at about 6:55 AM, and ten minutes later, his dog became extremely agitated, pulling him a few feet off the trail. As he allowed the dog to lead him on, he discovered the body of a man in his late twenties to early thirties, and promptly called 911 from his cell phone.

By 7:20 AM, I had arrived at the forest, and was lead to the apparent crime scene by one of the officers on duty that morning, Officer O'Hara. Despite damage done by nature and the elements, I immediately recognized the victim as Dr. Robert Chase, one of the employees of one Dr. Gregory House, a man I had the _pleasure_ of meeting a few weeks earlier. My original assumption would soon be corroborated by DNA tests and fingerprints. Once the preliminary examination of the scene was completed, I went back to my car and set out for Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, prepared to pay Dr. House yet another visit...

...I never received a call from Dr. Cameron at any time during that day. I never even spoke to her until I saw her at the hospital later that morning...

* * *

It was about ten o'clock Monday morning, and House off somewhere, avoiding Cuddy and clinic duty, while Cameron had thrown herself into helping the people who entered the clinic, sure that hard work would keep her mind off what had happened. The clouds had begun to darken once more, a foreboding sight, and I contented myself with looking over old files and making sure everything was in order. 

I was knee deep in old paperwork when I heard a familiar voice greet me, "Good morning, Dr. Foreman."

I squeezed my eyes shut. This couldn't be happening...it couldn't be him, not again. I opened my eyes and slowly raised my head, groaning inwardly as I took in the sight of Detective Tritter. "Back to haunt us again?" I replied, skipping the formalities.

He chuckled lightly. "I suppose so. Still don't like cops, do you?"

"I suppose so," I shot back bitterly.

He stood in the doorway a moment, eyes locked with mine, then took a few steps into the office and glanced around. "Where are the others?"

Damn, Cameron hadn't called the police after all. And now Tritter was here, trying to trip me up. He thought I'd crack, and let something slip, something along the lines of, "Chase isn't here because I killed him! Slap the cuffs on me now!" I silently cursed Cameron for making me lie for her, then replied easily, "House is hiding from doing any work, Cameron's in the clinic, and Chase didn't show up today." I shrugged. Okay, technically, I hadn't said anything untrue. But it still felt wrong.

Tritter nodded, absorbing the information. "Any ideas on where to look for Dr. House?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why? So you can harass him some more?"

"No, no...you've got it all wrong," Tritter replied. He settled into the seat across from me, sweeping a medical file out of his way. "Unfortunately, I come to you the bearer of tragic news." He studied my face for a reaction, then continued. "This morning, a man called in that he had found the body of a man in a forest, not too far from here. We ran some tests, and discovered that it was the body of Dr. Chase." He allowed me a moment to absorb the information he'd provided, his gaze unwavering as he studied my body language, just as any well-trained detective would. "I'm sorry," he added, almost as an afterthought.

I blinked at him. How should I play this? "Wow," I said finally, deciding shock was the best way to go. "Wow," I repeated, a little quieter. "Wh...what happened?"

"We're not entirely sure just yet," Tritter replied. "An autopsy is being performed as we speak. However, we believe he was walking through the woods and simple tripped, and fell hard. Unable to call for help, he simply bled to death. Or, maybe...he was pushed."

He paused, and I looked up sharply. "No, that can't be," I said, keeping the tone of shocked disbelief. "Who would want to kill Chase?"

"It may have been an accident." Tritter shrugged. "We don't know. We won't know for awhile, or we may never know. But for now, I need to speak with Dr. House."

I nodded. "Um, yeah...but I'm sorry, I don't know where he is."

Tritter nodded. "All right, I'll find him. I should probably alert Dr. Cuddy of this event, anyway." He stood and gave a slight nod. "Until later, Dr. Foreman."

"Um, yeah, bye." I watched him walk off down the hall, presumably for the elevator, and I left to warn Cameron of his arrival before he got to her, taking the stairs two at a time and arriving at the clinic just as Tritter did. I watched Cameron come out of an exam room to drop off a file and take a new one, and saw the fear in her eyes as she saw Tritter wandering around in the hospital lobby. She grabbed a file, called a name quickly, and darted into another room, moments before Tritter entered the clinic, and then Cuddy's office.

"What's Detective Butt-Temp doing here?"

I jumped at House's voice, and turned to face him. "Looking for you," I replied.

House made a face. "The fuzz after me again?"

"Nope, not you, really. He wanted to tell you something." I sighed. "Chase is dead. Someone found his body in some forest this morning."

House was silent, seemingly speechless for the first time in his life, then asked, "Where's he now?"

"Cuddy's office, breaking the news to her."

House limped off in the direction of the clinic, barging into Cuddy's office. I followed, waiting outside the doors and watching their reactions. Cuddy was crying a little, having already heard, and House hung his head respectfully as he received the news. No snide comments, no hurtful jabs...there was no humor in that office, only a mournful atmosphere.

Tritter turned and left the office, smiling sadly at me and holding out a tissue. "Here." He walked off, in search of Cameron, leaving me with the tissue hanging limply from my hand. It wasn't until then that I realized I, too, was crying. I wiped at the tears fiercely, then turned to face the clinic full of patients, surveying the scene for Cameron. She exited an exam room and dropped off her patient's chart at the nurse's station, where she was intercepted by Tritter.

She looked pissed to see him, glaring angrily. His face was soft, and his tone quiet and gentle as he slowly told the story. Her face fell into a frown, her eyes widened and glistened in the harsh hospital lights, and she began to cry. Somehow I knew she wasn't acting; the emotion she was showing was honest and pure. When the detective had finished speaking, Cameron had buried her eyes in her hand, and Tritter offered her a weak, semi-comforting pat on the shoulder before saying his farewells, then walking away.

He strode past me, looking surprisingly upset. "I'll be back," he told me quietly as he brushed past and out of the clinic. I didn't know if it was a promise, a warning...or a threat.


	10. Downfall

**_Author's Note: Much, MUCH longer chapter (well, for me at least), please enjoy...but still read slow, all right? I need time to work on the next chaper, and some other stories, and, oh yeah, homework and other such needless distractions..._**

**Disclaimer: The characters and events portrayed on the television show _House, MD_ do not belong to me; I'm just borrowing them. So please don't sue me. Thank you.

* * *

**

**_game_ (_n_)-a particular manner or style of playing a game**

Detective Tritter made numerous visits to PPTH throughout the next two months, all the while collecting evidence and noting any changes in demeanor or attitude. Cuddy was upset for awhile, but managed to remain calm. House seemed indifferent, noting that Chase had made more work for him, by forcing him to start interviewing for someone to fill the now-vacant position. Cameron seemed on the edge of a nervous breakdown, remaining silent unless she was spoken to directly. And I...well, I felt guilty. I knew Cameron probably wouldn't tell Tritter what she knew, what she had done, but I was always aware of my knowledge, every time I lied to Tritter or some other officer, every time I was questioned and fabricated an answer, even when I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. But I kept lying. I kept Tritter in the dark about the Nervous Game. I kept covering for my colleague (my _friend_). At least, until early March.

It was the second week of March, a month that had a reputation for coming "in like a lion," which it most certainly had. Besides the continuing police investigation into Chase's death, the rumors that began to fly around the hospital, _and_ trying to solve the strangest medical mysteries no one else could (short one doctor, mind you), we had a blizzard in later February, followed by more flurries and sub-zero temperatures throughout the first week of March, and the snow remained until the first Monday of the month, March 5.

However, the month most certainly did _not_ go "out like a lamb."

It was noon on March 5, and I was making my way down to the cafeteria for lunch. Cameron had disappeared earlier, as had become her custom within the last month, and House was off watching soap operas with Wilson, so I was on my own. I rode the elevator down to the lobby, then made for the cafeteria, buying myself a tray of food and settling at a table.

"Mind if I join you?"

I looked up and watched Tritter sit down opposite me, without waiting for a response. He had a bag of chips with him and ripped the bag open, gnawing at a potato chip. I picked at my lunch, swallowed the food in my mouth, then asked, "Can I help you?" I eyed him warily, wishing he would leave and let me eat in peace.

"Well...would you mind coming down to the station for a little while today?"

"Why?"

"Just some more questions...a few loose ends to tie up."

"So...you're close to arresting someone?"

Tritter half-smiled. "I'm not at liberty to say, Dr. Foreman."

"Oh." I looked down at the table and sat silently a moment. "Why can't you just interview me here?"

"I'd be more comfortable at the station. I think you would be, too...you may also be able to speak more freely there."

I considered what he'd said, and eventually nodded. "All right, I'll come."

Tritter allowed me to finish my lunch while he munched on his chips, making small talk about everything and anything, as long as it wasn't related to the investigation. When I was finished, I ran upstairs to tell House I had to go, and to gather my things, then climbed into my own car and followed Tritter to the police station.

I had expected getting hauled in for questioning. In fact, I was surprised it had taken the detective this long to bring me in. I could tell he thought I was a prime suspect, or someone who could lead him to the actual murderer, or at the very least, help him decipher the truth behind Chase's death. I mused this over as I awaited Tritter outside the station. When he met me, I let him lead the way inside, and into the interrogation room.

I shrugged off my coat and threw it over the back of the only chair in the room, a cold metal seat, with a matching metal table set in the middle of the room. Tritter had dropped his jacket at a desk outside I could only assume was his, and now shut the door behind himself and leaned against the wall. I set my bag on the floor beside my chair and waited for the interview to begin.

Tritter stood silently a few moments, then said, "Take me through Friday night and Saturday again."

I sighed. He meant those two fateful days back in January. "We've been over this already..."

"I know, I know," he replied, nodding understandingly and almost apologetically. "But I'd like to hear it again."

"Cameron and Chase had been getting a lot closer over the past week," I began in a bored tone. "They left the hospital together that night. I went home. On Saturday, well, I had some work to finish, went out for a walk for a bit, watched TV...that's about it." I sat back in the chair. "I don't know what Cameron and Chase did."

"Did you speak to either of them that weekend?"

I shook my head. Lying was becoming second nature to me. "Nope. They did their own thing, I did mine. We never spoke."

"I see." Tritter nodded, beginning to pace the room. "Well, someone at your apartment spoke to Dr. Cameron a little before midnight Saturday night, and into early Sunday morning."

Oh shit. I clutched the arm of the chair and forced myself to shake my head. "Impossible." My voice cracked.

Tritter mused this over. "Apparently not. You spoke for nearly ten minutes." He knocked on the two-way glass, and the door opened a crack. Another detective passed Tritter a piece of paper, then closed the door again. Tritter examined the paper a moment, then slapped it down in front of me, pointing to a line of writing on the printout. "See? Right there. 'Incoming call from number 555-0875; duration 8 minutes, 37 seconds.'" He left the paper for me to stare blankly at and paced away. "If memory serves, 555-0875 is Dr. Cameron's cell phone number, is it not?"

I shrugged and muttered, "Could be."

He smirked at me. "It _is_, Dr. Foreman. Now, that only leaves one more question unanswered: what did she have to tell you that was so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"

I continued to avert my eyes from his judgmental gaze. It was the moment of truth, to reveal the truth or risk jail time for accessory to a crime. I forced myself to look at Tritter, who was leaning against the wall once again, studying me, a tiny smile of grim satisfaction on his lips already. He had me, and he knew it.

I sighed, trying to buy time, and refolded my legs underneath me, sitting forward and clasping my hands together in front of me. I pursed my lips, still undecided.

"Well?" Tritter was getting impatient, and desperately trying not to let it show. But it was obvious how excited he was; he wanted blood, and could already taste it.

"I talked to her." There, I'd said it.

Tritter gave a full grin and pushed off the wall. He perched himself on the edge of the table and said, "Now we're getting somewhere...what did she tell you, Dr. Foreman?" He waited. And waited. And waited. Moments ticked by, and still I remained silent. "Dr. Foreman, must I remind you that you can be charged with obstruction of justice if you don't tell me everything you know?" I sat, still as stone and staring down at the cool metal top of the table, and Tritter leaned into me. "I know you've been withholding information. That can mean serious jail time, not to mention the end of your medical career." I looked up and met his eyes, and the glint I saw there told me that his statement was no warning; it was a threat.

"Do you have a few hours to waste?" I asked finally, smiling wryly.

Tritter nodded slowly. "If you have the information I need, of course."

I sighed again. "It began that week," I started. "That Monday. Cameron was acting strangely, and she came to us..."

"Who's us?"

"Chase and I," I replied, then continued, "Cameron came to Chase and I with a sort of proposition. She wanted us to play this game with her."

"And the name of this game?"

"The Nervous Game."

I explained everything. I explained the rules, guidelines, and goals of the Game. I went through every prank played, every comment made, every flirtatious pass attempted. I explained what had happened to me, what I knew of what had gone on between Cameron and Chase, and finally, the call that Saturday night. The shrill ring of the phone in the still, dark night. The caller's frantic pleas for help, indecipherable babbling, and sobbing. How I finally asked who the hell was calling me...and it was Cameron. How she had talked through her tears, and managed to tell me that Chase was dead, an accidental death caused by something she had done to him. Finally getting Cameron to hang up anf get home, and meeting her at her apartment. Trying to make her call the police, and her multiple refusals, and promises to do it the following day. The arguments I'd made to get her to come to her senses, none of which had worked, because she still hadn't called the police. How close to a mental breakdown she was, vanishing in the middle of the day, bursting into hysterics at the mere mention of Chase, barely able to do her job, but still running herself into the ground in an attempt to forget what she'd done.

The entire story, start to finish, took about two hours to tell. When I was done, it was a little after two in the afternoon, and Tritter thanked me for my help, telling me I was free to go. I felt a little less guilty about hiding what I'd known from the police, but that was replaced with a fresh sense of guilt, at practically ratting out Cameron. When I arrived back at the hospital, I resigned myself to the fact that I had to tell her what I'd said. Walking towards the entrance, I ran into her as she left the hospital.

"Foreman!" she yelped, startled out of her daze. "Where've you been?"

"I should ask you the same thing," I replied. "You just disappeared this morning..."

"I know." She sighed. "I needed to...think some things over." She forced a half-smile, but tears began to roll down her cheeks. "I was on the roof, and I realized just how easy it would be to take one little step...one little step could end it all."

My eyes widened. "Cameron, no...you can't kill yourself. You'll get through this..." I argued weakly.

Cameron gave a humorless laugh. "I killed someone, Foreman...you don't just 'get over' that."

I hung my head and murmured, "I guess not."

"I make everyone around me miserable," Cameron continued. "There's no use for me in this world...I might as well leave it, right?"

I laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Don't say that," I commanded quietly. "You have so much to give this world...don't leave just yet." She stared at me a moment, and didn't reply. I dropped my hand and shoved it into my pocket as a brisk wind blew over us. "Where are you off to?"

"Tritter called me," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Wants to talk to me. Actually, I'd better get going..." She gave me another weak smile and began to walk away. "Wish me luck."

"Cameron, wait," I called, and she turned back, expectant. We held each others' eyes a long moment, and I finally whispered, "Good luck."

She nodded and turned around, walking for her car. I watched her climb in and drive off, then finally entered the building. Somehow I knew it was the beginning of the end.

* * *

**Excerpt from the Transcripts of the First Interrogation of Dr. Allison Cameron**

**Questioning Officer: Det. Michael Tritter**

Det. M. Tritter: Why did you call Dr. Foreman on Saturday night?

Dr. A. Cameron: I didn't. Who told you that?

MT: (rustling of papers) Well, actually...the phone company did.

AC: (silence)

MT: Dr. Cameron?

AC: Yes?

MT: Is that not your cell phone number written there? Right there, on that line? "Incoming call from number 555-0875; duration 8 minutes, 37 seconds."

AC: Yes, that's my cell phone number...

MT: And this number at the top? That's Dr. Foreman's house number, correct?

AC: (pause) I think so.

MT: And the call was made at 11:56 PM on Saturday, January 27, 2007. You spoke to Dr. Foreman for, what...over eight minutes?

AC: I don't remember calling him.

MT: Oh, you don't...?

AC: No.

MT: You forget speaking to your coworker at midnight for almost ten minutes?

AC: It was late...maybe I was drunk. I don't know.

MT: So now you don't remember if your were drunk or not?

AC: I...

MT: Yes?

AC: (silence)

MT: All right, let's move on...that Friday. Did you leave the hospital with Dr. Chase?

AC: Yes. I gave him a ride home.

MT: And then?

AC: I dropped him off at home, Det. Tritter. That's what "giving someone a ride" means.

MT: I would not recommend playing games with me, Dr. Cameron...but you like games, don't you?

AC: Excuse me?

MT: The Nervous Game. Ever heard of it?

AC: No.

MT: So you didn't introduce Drs. Chase and Foreman to it?

AC: How could I if I've never heard of it?

MT: Funny...because Dr. Foreman remembers playing. He remembers that you were winning.

AC: Hmm...strange.

MT: I'll say. Dr. Cameron, you do realize that you can be sentenced to jail time for interfering with a criminal investigation?

AC: And you're reminding me of this why...?

MT: Because I think you know something you're not telling me.

AC: Really? Wow, so now you're a psychic detective?

MT: Tell me about your relationship with Dr. Chase.

AC: I...worked with him.

MT: That all?

AC: Mostly.

MT: (pause) I'm listening.

AC: I...slept with him. About a year ago.

MT: That all?

AC: (silence)

MT: According to Dr. Foreman, you two were getting pretty cozy recently. Care to explain?

AC: I don't see how this is relevant...

MT: Why don't you let me be the judge of that?

AC: (sigh) That Friday...I spent that night at his apartment. The night before, he'd been at mine.

MT: So you two had a sexual relationship?

AC: Not at first...that's just what it became.

MT: Did you love him?

AC: What?

MT: Did you love Dr. Chase?

AC: (silence)

MT: This isn't a very difficult question, Dr. Cameron. Did you love the guy, or was he just your boy toy?

AC: I...

MT: (silence)

AC: ...don't know.

MT: You don't know?

AC: Maybe.

MT: Maybe what?

AC: (silence)

MT: Dr. Cameron...were you falling in love with Dr. Chase, or were you just screwing with him?

AC: At first...it was just for fun. (sob) It wasn't supposed to turn out this way!

MT: What wasn't? What happened, Dr. Cameron?

AC: (pause) I did.

MT: You what?

AC: I fell in love with him.

* * *

Little did any of us know, while this was going on, Det. Tritter was also working on getting a search warrant for Cameron's apartment. A few days later, he got it. They took most of her things out of the apartment in evidence bags, her diary among them. It would eventually become the most damning piece of evidence against her. 

Tritter questioned me again, and House, Cuddy, and Wilson, as well as a few various nurses, anyone who had ever come into contact with Cameron. The cops even dropped in on some of our old patients, collecting more and more evidence against Cameron. It seemed like everyone in the judicial system was chomping at the bit, just waiting for the day when they could get her trial, which they eventually did, only after her third interrogation with Tritter in late March.

* * *

**Excerpt from the Transcripts of the Third Interrogation of Dr. Allison Cameron**

**Questioning Officer: Det. Michael Tritter**

Det. M. Tritter: Fancy meeting you here again.

Dr. A. Cameron: And I thought I was done with you.

MT: (laugh) Not that easily.

AC: So, what useless information do you want to know about me today?

MT: The events of Saturday the 27.

AC: Haven't we gone over this?

MT: And over it and over it, yes. But please, bear with me...

AC: Well, I drove home from Chase's in the morning, and then picked him up at about three in the afternoon.

MT: And where did you go?

AC: The forest a little while from Princeton. Probably about a twenty minute drive, or so. I took Chase to my favorite spot, near the edge of this lake, and we stayed for a few hours.

MT: And then?

AC: I left.

MT: You left him there? Alone?

AC: (pause) Yes. Around eight that night.

MT: Were you aware Dr. Chase had nyctohylophobia?

AC: Yes.

MT: He had a fear of the forest at night, and you left him there alone?

AC: Yes, okay! Yes.

MT: Why?

AC: Why what?

MT: Why did you do it?

AC: (silence)

MT: We've come this far, Dr. Cameron...

AC: It was for the Game.

MT: The Game?

AC: The Nervous Game.

MT: Ah, yes...the game you've never even heard of.

AC: I lied then. I'm telling the truth now.

MT: And why should I believe you?

AC: Believe me or not, it's your choice.

MT: I suppose it is. And I'd like to believe you. But...why would you do this, if you were falling in love with him? If you knew he had this fear? If you wanted to be with him?

AC: (sob) I honestly don't know...

MT: But you did leave him there?

AC: Yes. I did.

MT: And you were aware of his phobia?

AC: Yes.

MT: Thank you, Dr. Cameron. That will be sufficient.

* * *

After that final interview, the district attorney decided to seek murder two charges against Cameron. He wanted to get her for murder in the second degree, instead of the lesser charge of voluntary manslaughter, saying she took a risk with Chase's life, despite her knowledge of his fears, and the senseless prank resulted in Chase's death. 

I remember the day Cameron was told all this like it was yesterday. It was early April, a beautiful spring day, and we were seated in the diagnostics office, taking a much-needed break. She seemed to be in higher spirits than she had been the last few months, and had thankfully stopped her talk of suicide. Instead, we were talking about the weather, and TV shows, and movies, and I actually had her _laughing_. And that's when Tritter walked in.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," he'd stated, an officer at his side.

I remember rising protectively, and demanding, "What's this all about?" Cameron rose, too, slowly getting to her feet and blinking confusedly at Tritter.

"This is between Dr. Cameron and the judicial system of New Jersey," Tritter informed me, beckoning for Cameron to come to him and repeating, "You'll have to come with me."

Cameron took a hesitant step forward. "Why?"

Tritter sighed. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I can let you walk out of here without the cuffs, or I can slap them on you now..."

"Handcuffs?" Cameron echoed, a fear that hadn't been in her eyes for so long once again present. "What...?"

"Allison Cameron, you are under arrest for the murder of Robert Chase." Tritter nodded to the officer with him, who swiftly grabbed Cameron's shoulder and spun her around, taking her wrists and handcuffing them tightly behind her back. Cameron made a small noise of protest as Tritter began reciting her Miranda Rights. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at government expense." He paused. "Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

Tears welled in Cameron's eyes as she gave a weak nod. House was now out of his chair and across the room, watching silently as the events unfolded, and I dropped my eyes from Cameron's face. The look she wore was heartbreaking, and she looked pitifully small and vulnerable. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back with the handcuffs, and her lab coat hung huge and limp on her shoulders. She'd lost weight in the last few months, from stress and just a plain refuse to eat, and as the officer shoved her out of the office before him, I feared he'd break her fragile frame. House and I followed the trio down the hall to the elevators, where Tritter leaned over and pressed the button, awaiting the lift to come. The officer's hand never left Cameron's upper arm, a tight, viselike grip, and the show attracted quite a few stares. The elevator doors finally opened, and Cameron, Tritter, and the police officer climbed on. House remained motionless, and I ran for the stairs, reaching the lobby as the elevator did. I watched them walk through the heart of PPTH, like a hunter parading their prize catch around town. Cuddy appeared from her office and met them at the door, giving Cameron a sad smile and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. Cameron barely glanced at her as she was led out the doors of the hospital and angled into the back of a squad car. The nurses and doctors in the area, as well as curious patients, gathered at the doors to watch them take Cameron away, but I turned around and trudged slowly back up the stairs.

I couldn't bear to see it. I had known it was coming, maybe even prepared myself for the day when Tritter would appear, cuffs in hand, but now that it had actually happened, I felt an immense sadness. I collapsed in the stairwell and cried, mourning the loss of Chase and, yes, Cameron. I mourned the downfall of my friends, the senseless death of Chase, and the sure end to Cameron's life, if she were found guilty and sent to jail for God knew how long. I wept for a long time, listening as a light rain began to fall, grieving and mourning and crying, until I felt that I was completely dry and could not shed another tear.

And then I cried a little more.


	11. The Last Time

**_Author's Note: This isn't as long as some of the other chapters have been lately, but I am forecasting that the next will be longer. Only a few chapters to go, I warn you. And please review when you're done...I love hearing from all of you!_**

**_And a note to those who care: my definitions for the word "game" come from a website. And to the person who asked that I forgot to reply to: My comment last chapter about the month not "going out like a lamb" does make sense; the month isn't over yet, and a lot can sitll (and will) happen._**

**_Oh, and please excuse any of my mistakes within the coming chapters relating to judicial jargen (sp?) and procedure; I'm pretty much clueless when it comes to that, but I'm trying my best._**

**Disclaimer: I do not own House, or a mouse, though Steve McQueen might be nice : ) Yeah, I don't know where that came from.**

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_game_ (_v_)- to play games of chance for stakes; gamble

I went to every single one of Cameron's court appearances over the next few months. House showed up sometimes, but I was mostly accompanied by Wilson, or sometimes Cuddy, if she was able to pull herself away from the hospital for a long enough time. Running the hospital had become a much more difficult job in light of recent events, what with the media attention, and rebuttal from the community, demanding they be treated by doctors who wouldn't later murder them. And this was all before Cameron had even been sentenced to anything, before the trial had even begun.

Cameron spent a night in jail after her arrest, one of the longest nights of her life, as she described it to me later. She slept on the hard cot of a small, cold, stone cell, and was interrogated multiple times. Upon Tritter's first attempt, she had remained silent, ignoring him as she stared straight ahead in a daze. With the second attempt, she had asked for a lawyer. Not having a permanent lawyer on stand-by, and not wanting to be assigned one who might already have judged her guilty, she called the first lawyer she could think of: Stacy Warner.

The conversation, according to Stacy, went something like this:

Stacy was home when her phone rang, and she picked it up on the first ring, with a cheerful, "Hello."

"Stacy?" Cameron replied, sounding small and scared. "It's Cameron. I...I need a favor."

"Um...all right," Stacy replied, perplexed, and unsure how to react. "Wouldn't you rather call someone else, though?"

"No, I need _your_ help."

"What do you need?"

"An attorney."

That had sparked her interest. Stacy, cradling the phone on her shoulder, grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen. "Where are you now, Cameron?"

"The twenty-first precinct, downtown," Cameron replied, doing her best to keep calm. "I was arrested this morning, at work."

"What for?" Stacy asked gently. Silence met her question, and she added, "Cameron? What for? What happened?"

Cameron took a deep, quavering breath. "I was arrested for murder," she finally said, adding, "They're charging me with second degree murder."

Stacy began to scribble some notes on the paper. Cameron sounded on the edge of a nervous breakdown, so she proceeded with caution. "And...who did you, um...kill?"

"Chase," Cameron replied, quick to add, "but it was a complete accident!" She sighed heavily, then said, "Oh, damn, nothing was supposed to go this wrong...nothing bad was supposed to happen."

"I know," Stacy replied comfortingly, attempting to remain calm while really, she was shocked, and completely caught off guard by Cameron's reply. "I understand. But I'm not sure if I'm the right person for the job..."

"You got Chase out of that mess last year," Cameron persisted. She began to cry weakly again, and continued quietly, "Please...please help me, Stacy. I have a bail hearing early tomorrow, and I don't know what to do. I feel like I can actually trust you. Please, I don't know who else to call..."

Stacy thought it over a silent moment, while Cameron continued whimpering over the phone, then replied, "All right. I'll be in Princeton in a little under an hour. Until then, just sit tight, and don't answer anything, all right? Don't do anything until I get there. Understand?"

"Yes, I do," Cameron replied meekly. "Thank you, Stacy. Thank you so much." With that, she hung up, leaving Stacy to finish her notes and prepare to drive into Princeton.

The following day, it didn't just rain. It _poured_. At nine that morning, I was seated directly behind the defense table, watching a few people wander into the courtroom, all bearing a strong resemblance to drowned rats. The assistant district attorney and his team settled at the prosecutor's table across the room, while the judge's bench stood empty. A bailiff hung out by the bench, while two security guards chatted easily at the entrance to the courtroom. I turned to watch Wilson stride into the room, and take a seat next to me. We muttered half-hearted greetings to each other and talked quietly for a few moments, awaiting the hearing's commencement.

Heels clacked against the hard wood floor, and I turned again to watch Stacy enter the room. She gave me a weak smile, and stopped just before proceeding to the table to talk to Wilson and I.

"Strange turn of events, huh?" she said, meaning what had happened to Chase and Cameron.

I nodded weakly, and replied, "I can't believe what happened...what _is_ happening. She didn't mean to do this."

Stacy gave a wry smile. "Save it for the strand. I'll be calling each of you a character witnesses...well, maybe not House." We shared a small chuckle, then she excused herself to take her place. I watched her shed her coat and set her briefcase on the table, ruffling through its contents and extracting the papers she needed before taking a seat and placing the briefcase on the floor beside her.

Cameron was led in a moment later, wearing the clothes she had been the day before, minus her lab coat and ID, and looking ruffled and tired, and entirely un-Cameron. Her eyes were bloodshot and clouded, and dark circles were evident under her eyes. It was obvious to anyone that she had barely slept.

The bailiff strode to the center of the courtroom. "All rise," he bellowed, his voice echoing in the confined space, and the three-person prosecuting team, Cameron, Stacy, Wilson, and I, as well as the dozen or so others who had come to see the proceedings, rose in unison, and the judge made his way into the courtroom.

"Case number 0013527, people of the state of New Jersey versus Dr. Allison Cameron, MD, in the matter of the death of Dr. Robert Chase, MD," the court clerk announced. "One count of murder in the second degree." The judge took his place and the courtroom settled down once more.

"And how do you plead, Dr. Cameron?" the judge asked in a kind, but firm, voice. He looked more like someone's grandfather than the man who could sentence Cameron to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Cameron rose on shaky legs, and managed, "Not guilty, your honor."

The prosecutor, ADA Jeremy Stone, took to his feet and began, "Your honor, we request that the defendant be held without bail until the trial."

The judge gave Stone a slightly amused glance. "And why is that, Mr. Stone?"

"Through Dr. Cameron's own selfishness and lust for adventure, Dr. Chase's life was put at extreme risk, a risk which resulted in his death. Therefore, we ask the court that she be remanded to prison. She is a danger to those around her, your honor, and she _must_ be locked up.

"Further more, we ask that Dr. Cameron be suspended from the practice of medicine, and all privileges that go along with that occupation, until the conclusion of this trial."

Stacy leapt to her feet at this. "Your honor, Dr. Cameron is an admirable part of the Princeton community. She is a brilliant doctor, who works under one of the top diagnosticians in this country. She has saved numerous lives and helped countless numbers of people throughout her career. Though she does not deny her part in Dr. Chase's death, this charge is much too harsh. Her intent was not malicious, nor was it to inflict bodily harm on the victim..."

"But what about the emotional trauma Dr. Chase had to endure in his final hours, Mrs. Warner?" Stone argued back angrily. "Your honor, malicious intent or not...!"

"Dr. Cameron is not an animal," Stacy persisted in response. "She is a kind, caring, good-natured woman, who is an asset to this community. One lapse in judgement should not condemn her to life in prison, which is a true possibility under this charge."

"One lapse in judgement should not result in the death of another human being!"

"Enough!" The judge pounded his gavel to quiet the arguing attorneys. "Mr. Stone, Mrs. Warner...save it for the actual trial." He sighed, then continued, "What I've heard today, and read previously, about this case proves to me that murder in the second degree is a charge equivalent to Dr. Cameron's crime. Thus, we will proceed to trial under this charge.

"Also, in the matter of bail, it is set at one hundred thousand dollars, cash or bond. Upon her release, Dr. Cameron is to hand over her passport, and is hereby suspended from the practice of medicine, and all privileges tied to that profession." He looked to Cameron a moment, who hung her head in shame and utter defeat, then slammed his gavel once more. "Take the defendant back into custody. Next case."

And that was it. Stacy whispered a few words of encouragement into Cameron's ear before she was led away by an officer of the court, and the others in the courtroom rose to leave. The prosecutor and his team packed up and left, while Stacy took her time, then stood slowly and walk out with Wilson and I.

"Can either of you put up the bail money?" she asked quietly as we prepared to enter the storm once more.

"I will," I volunteered.

Stacy nodded. "All right, good. She's very close to a breakdown; I want her out of there as soon as possible." With that, she gave a brief nod in farewell and left. Wilson and I went our separate ways after that, his way back to the hospital, and mine to the twenty-first precinct, where I bailed Cameron out of jail. She met me with a grateful hug, then gathered her things and walked outside. When I offered a ride, she refused.

"I've been enough trouble already; I'll call a cab."

But I shook my head. "I put up one hundred thousand bucks to get your ass out of jail. I can give you a ride across town."

She half-smiled, then gazed off into the distance. "What's going on with Chase?"

I frowned and replied slowly, "They held onto his body for a long time, and everyone assumed his family would want his body sent home to Australia to be buried. Instead, with barely any family or close friends to speak of, his stepmother decided to hold a small ceremony here in Princeton; she flew up yesterday."

"And when's the burial?"

"Today, at three. We're all going: me, Cuddy, Wilson, even House. We're pretty much all Chase had." I looked up at her. "Do you...want me to take you?"

She looked at me and held my gaze steadily. "Would you?"

I nodded. "Of course. You deserve to say good bye, just as much as any of us do."

"But..." Her voice trailed off, and she began again, more quietly, "But I'm probably not wanted there. Everyone knows what I did...they want me to rot in jail for the rest of my life."

"They don't," I replied forcefully. "Cameron, listen to me: everyone is behind you. We believe in you. We want you to get through this, and we'll help you in any way we can."

When she looked at me again, her eyes were bright and grateful as she smiled slowly at me. "Thank you."

I just shrugged it off, then held out a hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

I drove Cameron back to her house, then made plans to pick her up a little before three. When I returned to her apartment, she was awaiting me outside her building, clad in a modest black dress and long black coat. I readjusted my tie and climbed out of the car, making my way to the other side of the car to open the door for her to climb in. Once we were both settled in, I pulled away from the curb and drove across town to a large graveyard. I pulled into a parking spot and them climbed from the car, Cameron following me through the high gate of the cemetery and over the well-groomed lawn. I could make out House's limping form, accompanied by Wilson, making their way across the grass to where Cuddy and another woman stood by a casket and about a dozen chairs. The casket was lain with a large bouquet of flowers, and a priest stood at its head. Cameron froze by a gravestone a few yards away. "I can't do this."

I stopped, too, and turned back to her. "Cameron..." My voice trailed off weakly, as I was unsure what to say. "All right," I finally relented. "Stay here, then. I'm going." I moved off, feeling here eyes on my back, and met up with the others. I turned back once and met Cameron's eyes, and she took a hesitant step forward. I nodded encouragingly, and she slowly walked towards us.

"Are we ready to being?" the priest inquired, and the woman I could only guess was Chase's stepmother nodded. The ceremony began, Cameron sitting apart from the rest of us, despite our attempts to include her, and was over shortly. The woman stood and dropped a handful of dirt onto the now-lowered casket, then quickly moved away. I shared a perplexed look with Wilson, who shrugged in reply, and we lined up to take our turns at the casket, to share a few final moments with Chase, an employee, a colleague, a friend, and a lover.

Cuddy went first, taking a few silent moments and murmured something I assumed was a prayer, then making the sign of the cross across her body, a gesture that strangely surprised me. Wilson followed, bowing his head a moment and then moving on. House moved up after his friend, and was oddly quiet and withdrawn. His eyes were shadowed with grief as he muttered something inaudible, then smiled slightly and walked off. I smiled, too, only imagining what final jab he had taken at his employee. The gesture may have seemed out of place, or even disrespectful, to others, but somehow fit the sarcastic doctor perfectly.

Moving forward, I let the dirt fly into the hole in the ground, listening to it dribble against the wood of the casket six feet below. _You don't know how many people you upset today, wombat boy. _I fell silent in my mind a moment, then added, _Damn it, Chase...what did you have to go and die for? _I sighed and looked skyward. _Dear Lord, please watch over my friend and colleague as he passes from our world to yours. Amen. _It was short, and simple, but it was enough.

I took a step to my left, sliding over to allow Cameron her personal space, but staying close enough to support her if she needed it. Her hand rose slowly, clutching the earth that had been dug out of the ground to form the rectangular hole before her, and she let the dirt sift through her fingers slowly. Head bowed and hands clasped before her, she stood silently a few moments, tears rolling down her cheeks and falling into the open grave. As she raised her head and wiped at her tears, she turned to leave, walking alone back towards where I had parked my car. I stayed to talk to the others a moment, then said hasty farewells and jogged after Cameron, only to find her perched on the hood of my car, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly at the wrought-iron bars of the fence before her. Silently, I helped her up and into the car, closing the door behind her and then climbing in behind the driver's wheel and easing away from the curb.

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_From a Crumpled Napkin Acting as the Temporary Diary of Allison Cameron_

_Tonight I went out for a walk. I was exhausted, in need of a good night's sleep, should probably have taken advantage of sleeping in my own warm bed before I'm carted off to jail once more (as I feel I will be at the conclusion of this trial), but I went out, still wearing the dress I'd worn to Chase's funeral and the damn heels I'd chosen to wear. I walked everywhere, up familiar streets and around corners I'd never known existed, and eventually, I found myself at the cemetery._

_I walked the grounds for an hour or so, intentionally avoiding the fresh grave I knew was there. I finally forced myself to visit it, and stood at a respectful distance, taking in the new headstone and freshly packed earth, barren of grass and weeds. I walked slowly towards the marker, and fell to my knees before it, tracing the letters of a name I know I'll never forget, reading the dates etched into the stone, numbers telling of a life cut much too short. I cried again, something that had become almost like a gut reaction to anything having to do with Chase, then begged his forgiveness, proclaimed my love, and collapsed on the ground beside the stone. A cloud covered the moon, throwing shadows across the graveyard, and a light rain began to fall. I stumbled to my feet, and laid a hand on the gravestone once more before starting for home. Somehow I knew this would be my last time alone with him._

_The rain began to fall heavier and harder, making puddles on the ground, but I trudged on at a slow pace, eventually deciding to go into a small coffee shop I wandered by, which is where I got this napkin to write on._

_And now, this entry is done. But I want it never to be seen by anyone but me, so that's why I'm taking the box of matches from the drawer in the kitchen. My moment of quiet, my last moment with Chase, shall be my secret and my memory alone. Thank you for allowing me to pour my heart out to you, little scrap of paper. It was a noble deed, indeed.

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	12. Her Day in Court

**_Auhtor's Note: Probably only one more chapter left of this story, maybe two, or perhaps an epilogue...I still haven't decided. But please, read this and enjoy, and please excuse my ignorance as to court proceedings and trials and hearings, and all that other fun legal stuff that I know nothing about. : ) I'll hqave the next chapter out...erm, as soon as possible. I'll try to get it done by the end of this week, or the weekend (I hope)._**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine...geez, I should just take them; I write enough stories to have my OWN _House _show. But, uh, hee hee, I won't...:nervous laughter: PLEASE DON'T SUE!!

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**_game_ (_adj_)-having a fighting spirit; plucky**

The day after Chase's funeral, the trial began. It was scheduled to begin at about eleven in the morning, and I went, this time accompanied by both House and Wilson. We took seats in the first row, directly behind the defendant's table, and Stacy entered moments after us. The usual statements were said, and opening arguments got underway. ADA Stone talked and talked, and finally Stacy got her turn to speak on behalf of Cameron. Once that was out of the way, witnesses began to be called, and the real trial began.

The state called Chase's psychiatrist that day, who gave testimony to Chase's severe nyctohylophobia, making statements that probably could have made the jury send Cameron back to jail on the spot, had Stacy not been able to call rebuttal witnesses. First, she called Wilson, who told how great Cameron was with patients, and how, though he didn't often work with her, he'd never heard a word against her. Once Wilson had stepped down, court was ended for the day. Various other witnesses followed the next few days, and after a week of trial, the state called Tritter to the stand.

"Please state your name and occupation for the court, sir," Stone said congenially, as if chatting with an old friend at a backyard barbeque.

"Michael Tritter. I'm a detective with the Princeton Police Department."

Stone nodded, then asked a few opening questions, asking about what Tritter had observed at the scene of the crime, and what he knew of us doctors. Eventually, the questioning turned to the interrogations.

"And what did you find out from Dr. Cameron upon your third interrogation, Det. Tritter?"

"She was aware of Dr. Chase's fear of dark wooded areas, a severe phobia testified to by his psychiatrist," Tritter replied. "Despite that, she left him in a forest, miles from Princeton, for over three hours."

"And did she offer an explanation as to her actions?"

Tritter shook his head. "She did not...she said she didn't know. I guess you';; just have to ask her yourself later today."

There was a buzz of quiet laughter as Cameron sunk farther down in her seat. Stone gave a good-natured smile, and replied, "I suppose I will. The prosecution rests."

The judge looked to Stacy. "Mrs. Warner, anything to add?"

Tritter, too, looked to Stacy, locking eyes with her and giving a small, almost demonic, smile, as if daring her to question him. She had been planning on letting Tritter off the stand rather quickly, hadn't prepared any questions, but she hated to let him leave thinking he'd won. But letting him talk any longer would most likely harm Cameron, rather than help her. Stacy hesitated, then stood slowly. "One question, Det. Tritter."

"Anything."

"You went after Dr. Cameron's employer, Dr. Gregory House, not long ago, is that correct?"

"Went after him, how?"

"You were investigating his drug habits, correct?"

"Yes..."

"And you didn't like him very much?"

"Honestly, not at all."

ADA Stone rose from his seat. "Where is this going, your honor?"

"I'll make my point in a moment," Stacy promised with a quick smile flashed at the judge, who nodded for her to proceed. "Did Dr. Cameron help you on your quest?"

"She wasn't very helpful, no."

"Did she, say, _hinder_ your investigation in any way?"

"Not exactly, no. But she refused to answer some of my questions."

Stacy nodded and leaned against the table. "Isn't it possible then, Det. Tritter, that you pursued the second degree murder charge to get back at her?"

Tritter's eyes flashed dangerously. "That is completely false."

"Well, if not her...Dr. House, then?"

"How can you even suggest that?" Tritter growled in response, narrowing his eyes at the attorney.

"Well, you didn't like him much. You said so yourself."

"I..." Tritter clasped his hands together, trying to squash his anger, as his voice trailed off without offering a true answer.

But the seed was planted, and the damage was done. Stacy smiled and bobbed her head, cutting off any more of an answer from the detective. "Thank you, Det. Tritter. That will be all." She took her seat once more.

The judge looked at Tritter. "You may step down, Det. Tritter."

Tritter gripped the sides of his chair, enraged, then forced himself to his feet. "Thank you, your honor," he said over his shoulder as he stepped down off the witness stand, the polite calm in his voice obviously forced.

After that, I was called to the stand, and tried my best to paint Cameron as a caring, considerate person, the person I had always thought she was. I told how she and Chase had been getting close over that past week leading up to his death, and all about the Nervous Game, including scores, even getting a chuckle when I expressed my sorrow at being in last place. There were, of course, hard questions I had to answer truthfully, questions about Cameron's phone call to me the night she'd called me to tell me Chase was dead, about how I had lied to Tritter throughout my first few interviews, about Cameron's anguish and refusal to call the police. I hated explaining the aftermath of Chase's death, how it had affected me, and Cameron, and everyone else at the hospital. But it had to be done, and once I had finished my tale and all questions were fully answered, I practically sprinted off the witness stand and back to my seat, content to keep to the sidelines and listen to the March rain.

As I sat, Stacy stood and said, "Your honor, if it pleases the court, the defense calls Dr. Allison Cameron to the stand."

Stone practically salivated as Cameron stood and slowly walked across the courtroom. Thunder rumbled as she climbed into the witness stand, and the court clerk scurried over with a Bible under his arm. He held it out to her, and explained, "Please raise your right hand and place your left hand on the Bible." Cameron did as she was instructed, and the clerk continued, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Cameron nodded weakly and murmured, "I do."

"Be seated," the judge commanded gently, and Cameron sat, the clerk scurrying out of the way once more. The entire scene had been somehow surreal and utterly _wrong_. Cameron was one of the least religious people I knew, and there she had been, her hand on the Bible, swearing to God that all she said would be "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." It made me wonder: did that oath apply to atheists? Could Cameron lie on the stand, just because she didn't believe in a superior being and, thus, didn't fear burning in Hell for lying through her teeth?

I shoved the thought to the back of my mind for another day, a day more suited to philosophical thinking, and decided that no matter what your beliefs, you just didn't _purger_ yourself. At least, I hoped Cameron wouldn't.

Stacy started out slow, asking easy opening questions and making sure Cameron was all right. She asked about the beginning of the Game, some of the pranks she had pulled on Chase and I, attempting to make her comfortable. After a little while, she brought up the night of Chase's death, and Cameron answered as she had been for the last two months: it had all been for fun, she didn't know why she hadn't called the police, she had been so scared. She admitted she had somehow played a part in Chase's death, something she hadn't denied since the beginning of the trial, and that she was deeply saddened by the death of man, as she put it, she could "see herself being with forever." When she had finished her questions, Stacy smiled sweetly at Cameron and backed away from the witness stand, thanking her for her strength and composure on the stand. And then Jeremy Stone stood.

He, too, eased into the tougher questions, though he became much more aggressive much more quickly. "What was going through your mind, I wonder, when you decided to leave Dr. Chase in the darkened woods he most feared?" he questioned eventually, piercing eyes boring into Cameron's.

"I...I wasn't thinking," she finally replied. "It was a stupid plan I'd thought up to get myself a few points in the Game..."

"But you were already winning," Stone said, sounding stunned. "Why did you need more?"

"I wanted to stay in the lead," Cameron replied quietly, realizing too late just how self-absorbed the statement made her sound.

"I see...and killing Dr. Chase could get you those extra few points you needed?"

Stacy leapt up to object, but Cameron beat her to it, leaning forward and yelling in response, "I didn't kill him! It was an _accident_! A God damn _mistake_!"

"Oh, I see. You should be let off because it was an accident, right? Yeah, and Charles Manson killed all those people on accident, too."

"Don't you dare compare me to that monster," Cameron replied in a low, wrathful tone, still leaned forward in her seat, glaring at the ADA. "This _was_ an accident...and why the hell would I _want_ to kill Chase?"

"He turned you down, he rejected you flat out, he screwed you over, he stole something of yours; the list of possibilities goes on and on for _miles_ Dr. Cameron."

"And not one of them is true," she scoffed. "I would never kill him. You just don't understand..."

"What, Dr. Cameron?" Stone strode up to the witness stand and stared into Cameron's eyes, as if searching for a straightforward confession. "What don't we understand?" She remained silent, so he added, "Please, I beg of you...enlighten us."

She sat back in the uncomfortable chair, and diverted her eyes a moment. Her shoulders began to shake as she covered her eyes with a hand, looking away. The judge, in a moment of sympathy, leaned over and asked, "Would you like a break, Dr. Cameron?"

Cameron shook her head and inhaled deeply, attempting to take control of the tears that rolled down her cheeks like the rain pelting the window outside. "No, no...thank you." Her surge of rage had left her, and she bore a strong resemblance to a wilted flower in that moment: once beautiful and alive, but now stripped of all energy and will to live. She sunk into the seat and closed her eyes a moment, forcing them open after a few moments of quiet calm, and then said, "Mr. Stone, have you ever been in love?"

"Dr. Cameron, have you ever been on trial?" he shot back. "_I'm _asking the questions...you just answer them, okay?"

"I've been in love," she went on, ignoring his sarcasm (a talent learned after years of working for House). "A few times. But this time...God, I would never have done anything to hurt him. I...I loved him. Damn it all, I loved him with all my heart. I loved everything about him, lusted for him, longed for him...I miss him. Will miss him forever." She sighed. "He'll also be the only person I've ever killed." She looked to the jury. "I don't care what you decide for me. What happened was a mistake, and I only hope you know that...but I feel like I deserve jail time. I..." She shook her head and let her voice trail off into silence. But from our earlier conversations, I had a feeling what she had wanted to say: _I deserve death._

"That will be all, Dr. Cameron," Stone said quietly, his tough-guy attorney persona leaving for a momentary show of compassion.

Cameron nodded weakly and stepped down from the witness box, and took her seat beside Stacy once more, where she sat stoically for the remainder of the trial. It was the very last day of March when the jury went out. They returned with a verdict in a matter of hours.

"Have you reached a verdict?" the judge asked, a stupid question if I ever heard one. Why else would they be coming back into the courtroom if they _didn't_ have a verdict? To me, this was just another way of drawing out the suspense, giving the people present at the trial a great story to tell. I hated it.

"We have," the forewoman of the jury replied, handing a paper to the court clerk, who carried it to the judge.

"Dr. Cameron, please rise." The judge read over the sheet, then handed it back to the clerk, who in turn returned it to the forewoman. He watched Cameron stand on shaky legs, then boomed out, "On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, against Dr. Allison Cameron, MD in the matter of the death of Dr. Robert Chase, MD, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant guilty," she replied, and Cameron's eyes widened in shock. She gasped for breath, like the words had knocked all the air out of her lungs, and Stacy patted her shoulder weakly, murmuring comforting words to her. Cuddy, Wilson, House, and I all looked at one another. How could this be? How could Cameron be found guilty? What the hell was going to happen now?

I watched Stone and his two co-attorneys smile and shake hands and pat each other on the back, and I scowled. They had effectively ended a career, a _life_, today, and they were already deciding where to go for celebratory drinks.

I knew things had been bad before, but watching Cameron get hauled out of the courtroom in handcuffs, flanked by two police officers, I knew they could (and yes, would) only get worse.


	13. A Good Game

**_Author's Note: All right, here it is...the final chapter of "The Nervous Game." It's been a long and twisting road, and there have been bumps in the road (coughcoughWriter'sBlockcoughcough), but I finally managed to end it. But, I need your help...I'm debating whether or not to put up an epilogue. When you review, let me know what you think about that, and, of course, this chapter._**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _House, MD_, I do not write these fanfics for monetary gain, and I am clearly stating that, so...you can't sue. Nah nah nah nah nah nah!**

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****_game_ (_n_)- an organized athletic program or contest **

The next time I saw Cameron, it was a beautiful spring day, about three weeks after the end of the first trial, and a week since the sentencing hearing. I entered the New Jersey Women's Correctional Facility at about one o'clock in the afternoon, and was led to a long row of chairs, each separated from another row of chairs opposite them by a thick plate of glass. Each seating area was separated by a stone wall, upon which hung a telephone.

"She'll be brought out in a moment," the guard told me as I sat down where he'd directed me to. I nodded and thanked him as he walked off, and sat back to wait. A few minutes later, Cameron was led out by another guard on the other side of the glass, and led to the seat opposite me. She wore an orange jumpsuit, a loose, bulky garment that hung off her skin-and-bones frame, and had her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her eyes were sunken in and glassy, there was a yellowing bruise on the side of her head, and she moved slowly, rubbing her forehead wearily and picking up the phone. I did the same, and she greeted me without enthusiasm. "Hey, Foreman."

"Hey," I replied quietly. We sat in silence a moment while I looked her over once more and she just sat and stared off into space. "Um, so...how are you?"

Cameron gave a bitter, biting laugh at that. "Just peachy," she replied, her voice full of contempt. "Prison is great. Crappy food, getting the shit beaten out of you your first day, crying yourself to sleep at night. I don't know why I didn't kill Chase sooner."

"Hey, hey...come on, don't talk like that," I said, narrowing my eyes and attempting a soothing tone. She glared at me in response, so I tried humor next. "Would a conjugal visit help?"

She looked up in surprise, and I wiggled my eyebrows at her, finally extracting a laugh from her sullen lips. "Thanks, but no thanks."

I shrugged. "Well, I tried."

She put a hand up against the glass, and said softly, "Really, thank you."

I smiled and, though it seemed utterly cliche, put my hand up to the glass, too, the closest I could get to a comforting touch. "No problem."

She smiled and dropped her hand a few moments later. "Have I missed anything important?"

I thought this over, deciding what to tell her. House had recently begun interviewing, having to now fill two positions with the best of the best, the tops of the medical school classes, the most talented young doctors he could find. He had been quieter lately, too, and the hospital seemed like a place of mourning nowadays. And there was the little fact that I was considering leaving my job for another. I ws beginning to feel suffocated at Princeton-Plainsboro, drowning in the torrent of memories and emotions. I hadn't been offered anything at that point, but felt confident I could find something, _anything_, better than what I had. "Uh, not too much."

Cameron gave me a knowing look, and asked, "House find anyone yet?"

I sighed and shook my head. "He's gone through a few dozen doctors, but..." I paused, then continued slowly, "It seems like he's not just trying to find new employees; he's trying to find replacements for you and Chase. I mean, it's like he wants exact clones of you guys."

"And he'll never find them," she added, a small smile on her face. "Because there's only one me. And there was only one Chase." She looked down, and suddenly said, "Damn...I miss him, Foreman."

In a moment of stupidity, I asked, "Who? House?" I realized the mistake as soon as the words left my lips.

She shook her head vehemently. "Not him...Chase. I really loved him." She looked up and into my eyes, her own pleading for someone to believe in her. "You believe me, don't you?"

I nodded resolutely. "Of course. I could see it when you two were together...and he loved you, too. Probably still does."

"Oh, God, please don't hit me with that now." She held her head in her free hand.

"Hit you with what?"

"The religious stuff. How can you believe in all that? What kind of God would allow all this shit to happen? Would let me kill the man I loved, and have the judicial system of New Jersey lock me up and throw away the key?" She glared at me, furious, and added, "Thanks for coming, Foreman, but you can go now." She moved to hang up the phone and stand up to go.

"Cameron, wait! Just hold on a minute..." I pleaded, and she stood frozen, hesitant and undecided, and finally sunk back into the seat and put the receiver back to her ear. I sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you...I wanted to help." She nodded weakly, silently, so I added, "I'm sorry. Really."

"Maybe it would be easier if I believed in God and heaven, and all of that," she said in reply. "It would give me hope, maybe. It would probably give me some kind of peace, being able to think of Chase in a 'better place.' And I've tried, Foreman, I really have...I've tried to believe all that. But I just keep thinking, 'What better place is there for him but with me?' Why can't _we_ be together, here, on Earth? Why the hell did God take him away from me?" She glared at her hands, then finally added, "And besides, Chase was no Mother Theresa. How can we even be sure he went to heaven? He's probably doing shots with the devil right now, watching a game of rugby, if anything."

I sputtered with laughter, muttering an apology. "Sorry...I know you're having some kind of epiphany moment, or something, but that was funny."

She looked at me, and chuckled quietly, too. "It's all right. Now that I think of what I said...it was pretty good, huh?"

I grinned at her. "Yeah. It was." I glanced at my watch, and cursed quietly. "I'm sorry, Cameron, but I've got to head back to the hospital."

She shook her head and waved a hand. "No problem...go ahead. I don't want you getting fired on account of me."

"Thanks." I smiled and we said our farewells, and I stood to go. A guard came over to walk Cameron back to her cell, and I turned back once. Cameron's eyes caught mine, and we grinned at each other. I could still see the humorous, kind, caring Cameron somewhere in the orange-clad prisoner, and I allowed myself the flitting thought that I had brought that side of her out once more. I raised my hand in a small wave, then turned to leave.

That was the last time I ever saw her.

* * *

Later in the day, Cameron was outside with the rest of her fellow inmates, sitting alone at a table, away from the others. Despite what the other prisoners had said, had taunted her with, she was _not_ one of them, and she never would be. She had heard the others talk about their crimes, grisly murders and senseless robberies. Not one of them was innocent, as far as she could gather, and they were more like animals than anything. She sighed and turned her heard, staring wistfully out the high fence of the prison. What she wouldn't give to get the hell out of there! 

In her few short weeks at the jail, she had, at least, made one friend: the prison doctor, a woman named Dr. Taylor. She had been the one that had fixed Cameron up after her initiation fight on her first day. Ever since then, Cameron had faked an illness or two, just to go and talk the only other normal person there. And today, she needed to talk. Clasping her stomach with one hand, she wandered over to the guard on duty. "I need to go to the infirmary."

He eyed her warily, then asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"My stomach's killing me, and my head's pounding...it might be serious."

"And what are you...a doctor?" The guard smirked at her unkindly.

Cameron nodded. "I was." He sighed and looked away, so she took his shirt sleeve and begged, "Please. I feel like I'm dying."

He looked her up and down, then beckoned over another guard. "All right. Here, she'll take you."

Cameron smiled weakly and nodded. "Thank you." She allowed the second guard to place handcuffs on her wrists and take her arm, leading her through the prison to the infirmary.

"Got another one for you, Dr. Taylor," the guard announced, leading Cameron into the room. She removed the handcuffs, then moved off silently.

"Allison. Fancy meeting you here." Dr. Taylor smiled and led Cameron to the examination room, and shut the door behind them. She leaned against the door as Cameron took a seat on the table. "So. What's wrong today?"

"My head hurt," Cameron said unconvincingly.

Dr. Taylor nodded knowingly, and handed her two aspirin. "All right. Take these, and hang out here for awhile." She watched Cameron down the pills, then asked gently, "Need to talk?"

Cameron shrugged. "I...I guess not. Not today. But thank you."

"What are friends for?" Dr. Taylor smiled, and then excused herself at a knock on the door. She returned a moment later, hurriedly grabbing a syringe and filling it with a liquid. "New inmate...she's a feisty one," she told Cameron, smiling slightly. She tapped the needle and turned to go as a guard outside called, "Where the hell is that tranquilizer, Taylor?" Dr. Taylor rushed out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Cameron sighed. "Alone again," she muttered to herself. She could here the sounds of a fight outside; this new woman was giving the guards hell. She lay back on the examination table, shutting her eyes a moment, then opening them again, letting tears roll down her cheeks. She sat up again, wiping the tears off her face, and glanced around the room. Dr. Taylor must really trust her, leaving her alone with all this stuff. It would be easy to steal some pills, maybe use them to barter with other inmates. But no, Cameron wouldn't do that.

She stood and wandered to a drawer, the drawer Dr. Taylor had pulled the syringe from. She fingered them almost lovingly, then took another from the drawer, one among many, and soon found a tourniquet. She sat on the table once more, and fastened the long strip of rubber around her arm. She examined the syringe in her hand, and looked around again. What to fill it with? Did she want a high, or did she want to bring herself down, to wallow in her self pity? Or...maybe she didn't have to fill it with anything at all.

She pulled back the plunger, and filled the syringe with air. Yes, this would do nicely. Instant heart attack. It would hurt, but only for a few short moments, and then it would all be over. She would go wherever people went when they died, maybe up into eternal happiness, maybe into an infinite darkness, or down into the fiery pits of Hell. Who knew? Well, she would soon.

She eyed the filled syringe a moment more. She had wanted to die. She knew she _deserved_ to die. She was no use to anyone here. She was just another lonely prison inmate, wasting oxygen for all the good people out there, beyond the fence. She'd be locked up in here for what, fifteen to twenty years? She'd eat the same crappy food everyday, get the shit beaten out of her by the same people, turn into a cold, callous, hollow shell of herself. When she was finally released, she'd have to find a place to live, a new job, a new career, for God's sake. And she'd still have to deal with the fact that she had caused the death of Robert Chase.

No, it was better to leave now. _Don't think...just do. You're doing the right thing. No one needs you, no one will miss you. The world is better off without you in it._ She took a long, shuddering breath, preparing for the pain she'd feel as air rushed through her veins, popping blood vessels, all the way to her heart, where it would finally give one last beat and, if all went as she hoped, would stop forever. She plunged the syringe into her arm, pulled the tourniquet off, and waited. Her arm ached, then hurt like hell, pain rushing up her arm from she'd injected the oxygen, all the way to her heart. Her heart made one last, pitiful attempt to make her live, one final beat, then stopped, and she fell back onto the table, a last breath leaving her lips.

Allison Cameron at last got what she had wanted and felt she deserved for so long. She had left the world that had only given her pain and suffering, for the unknown beyond. She had died.

* * *

"I think I'm cursed." 

I raised an eyebrow, looking up slowly from a medical file, and eyed House warily. "What?"

"I managed to lose two employees in, what? Four months?" He stared out the window. "Seems strange, doesn't it?"

"Don't flatter yourself," I shot back, not in the best of moods after my visit with Cameron. "None of this had anything to do with you."

House turned to me, and studied my face a long moment. "You don't look so good...you gonna die on me, too?"

I glared at him, deciding whether to reply, keep quiet, or just quit right then and there.

"House." Wilson's voice was short and sharp, cutting through the tension in the diagnostics office like a knife. House glanced up, and I turned. Wilson's eyes were reddened, and he seemed upset about something. "Cuddy wants to talk to you. You, too, Foreman." He backed out of the office and left, and I turned to House.

"Wonder what that's about."

House pushed himself to his feet. "Only one way to find out." He limped out of the office, and I followed. We rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence, then walked through the clinic to Cuddy's office. She was on the phone with someone as we walked up, and hung up slowly as we entered. When she looked up at us, I realized she was crying.

"What's up?" I asked quietly.

Cuddy stood slowly from her seat, taking a deep, steadying breath, and began, "Camer..." She wiped tears from her cheeks, then said softly, head bowed, "Allison Cameron took her life this afternoon."

House, who had been studying the carpet, looked up in shock at that, while my mouth dropped open. "She wouldn't do that..."

"She was depressed," House argued. "She had _killed_ someone, for Christ's sake." He looked at Cuddy. "How?"

"She injected oxygen into her blood stream..."

"...which caused a heart attack," House finished, while I shook my head, muttering that there must be a mistake, that she couldn't be dead, that she would never do something like that.

"It was her," Cuddy said gently. "She went to the infirmary, the doctor left her alone not more then ten minutes, she found a syringe and..." Cuddy's voice trailed off as she hung her head again, and murmured, "I'm sorry."

"Does her family know?" I asked suddenly.

"The prison informed them first, then me." She sighed. "They're sending her body home so she can be buried closer to those who loved her."

"_We_ loved her," I interjected. "_We_ were her family. When the hell did she ever talk about parents, siblings, friends? She had _us_...her life was _here_."

Cuddy's shoulders sunk wearily, and she slid slowly back into her chair. " I know, but that was her family's wish. We'll just have to deal with it." As I opened my mouth to argue more, Cuddy raised a hand for silence, and said gently, "But we'll be holding a memorial service here at the hospital in a few days."

The three of us remained in shocked, mournful, grieving silence a few moments, when House finally said quietly, "She was a wonderful person, someone I really could have learned something from. She was a hell of a doctor, and had a heart the size of this country. She won't be forgotten."

Cuddy nodded mutely, while I stared at House. Had he really just said that? Was it possible he cared for her, maybe even for all of us? I forced a half-smile, and, with only a second's hesitation, leaned over and hugged my boss. He drew back, then leaned into the embrace, and wrapped an arm across my back. I remember thinking, _Nothing like a funeral to bring people together_.

Or a good game.


	14. Epilogue:Conclusion of a Cautionary Tale

**Disclaimer: I do not own _House, MD. _I wish I did, but hey...everyone has their dreams.

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Games are commonly conceived as a fun pastime, used to whittle away a rainy afternoon or keep the kids quiet. And, honestly, that's what they usually are. But when someone with a bigger imagination, someone with an idea so farfetched and crazy and utterly _wrong_, is able to rope others into playing a game of their own creation, things can get ugly very quickly. It can all start out as a small amusement, an escape from reality, a bit of fun in the middle of a hectic work day. And it can continue that way, maybe for a few days, a week or two, months...maybe even years.

In the case of a game I played, it _was_ fun, for a week or so. But at the end of the first week, the other two players of the Game grew closer, a relationship used against one of them in an attempt to win this Game. This attempt ended his life, and, eventually, hers. Two of my closest friends, both gone within four months.

The Game, as it came to be known, has the full title of the Nervous Game, and was introduced to two unwilling players (I, one of them) by our very own "Game Master," or whatever the hell you want to call her. The sole purpose of this Game was to make other people uncomfortable, to push them to their breaking points, and, finally, to use their fears against them. Little did any of us know, the Game would soon turn deadly.

An accidental death, a murder conviction, and a suicide later, the Game finally ended, it's creator now dead and buried, leaving those who loved her behind to mourn for her, to grieve her passing, as well as the passing of the love she unwittingly caused the death of. She was never very religious, so...okay, that's an understatement. She was an atheist, through and through. But me, well, I'm a bit more lenient when it comes to that topic. And I like to think that the two lovers, my two colleagues and friends, are now at peace, together at last, maybe in Heaven, or doing shots with the devil in Hell. Whichever makes them happier.

Anyway, my story is told, and has now reached its conclusion, so I will let it run its natural course and end here. But before I do, a word of advice to those who read this: this is a cautionary tale, and one which I hope makes you think. Next time someone asks you to play a game (or _the_ Game, especially) think_ very_ carefully before answering.

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**_Author's Note: So, obviously I decided to write an epilogue. It just felt right to end it with another Foreman drabble-ish kind of thing. Yes, the story IS actually finished (my first completed fanfic!!) (okay, besides that little oneshot I wrote, but that doesn't count...) and it turned out quite well, if I do say so myself. I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing for you guys, and thanks you so much to those who have been their, reading and reviewing, since the beginning. Speaking of reviewing, this may be the last chapter, but don't let that stop you from dropping me a line!_**

**_Anyway, I will now try to defeat the writer's block on some of my other stories that led to the writing of this fic, and maybe get something new out to you guys soon. Thanks again for reading and reviewing, and I'll talk to you guys soon!_**

**_--OuEstLaCraie_**


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